


The Most Common Element

by Inzannatea (Zanna23)



Series: The Least of Your Worries [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 1930s, Airships, Case Fic, Deathblimp, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Murder Mystery, Romance, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-03 23:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanna23/pseuds/Inzannatea
Summary: Phryne and Jack have recovered from their adventures in Egypt and are travelling on to England via the transport of the future! Faster than a ship, more luxurious than Phryne's airplane, Britain's newest hydrogen lifted rigid airship promises to bring comfort and speed to the drudgery of travel, but is this ship, the largest in the world designed to show up the German Zeppelins ready for prime time?





	1. Chapter 1

“We’re headed to England in that thing?” Jack looked very skeptically at the extremely large object in front of them.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Jack?” Jack gave her a very dubious side-glance as she beamed broadly at him. “I think it fell off the back of that camel,” he cracked wise back to her.  They had decided to spend a few days exploring the Egypt properly before embarking on a truly different type of journey the rest of the way to England.

Phryne had booked them first class passage (really the only kind available) on one of the two British rigid airships to compete with a fleet of German zeppelins. This was the new frontier. The future was here. The R-101 was making its maiden return voyage to England and had stopped in Cairo, “And we have tickets!” Phryne had been so excited. “How wonderful,” Jack swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, in a tone that suggested that he felt much the opposite.  

Jack looked at the massive oblong shape in awestruck terror.

Phryne looked at the massive oblong shape in awestruck wonder.

“Ready?” She said with glee and glorious grin. “As I’ll ever be.” He responded quietly with a smirk and a sigh. She squeezed his bicep. “Don’t worry, Jack,” she winked, “you’ll have me with you to keep your head in the clouds.” He tilted his head towards hers and she rose up on her toes to give him a gentle kiss as they continued to wait arm-in-arm to board the airship.

The ship was tethered to a mooring mast that rose fifty feet into the air. Their trunks had gone ahead of them on lifts while they waited in the lounge getting to know some of the other passengers and the senior officers.

When they first arrived at the royal reception lounge, Phryne was greeted by an effete gentleman with too much hair trying to compensate for too much forehead. His clothing was expensive and immaculately cared for, with no hint of wrinkle, no thread out of order. He was a model of sartorial perfection. He had large, clear, light-blue eyes and long elegant lashes. His brows were artfully, though artificially, arched. He sported a tiny, but very well groomed, pencil thin moustache—not much more than the width of the tip of a knife. He lacked any strength of jaw, it gave the illusion that he had no chin. “Phryne Fisher,” he greeted her with something resembling, but not quite achieving the full effect of, warmth. “I haven’t seen you in ages, _darling_. What brings you to Egypt?” He kissed her lightly on each cheek. He asked the question with the air of someone who already had some of the facts but was looking to catch a lie.

Philip Howard, the fifth Earl of Effingham, was an incurable gossip. Phryne knew him from London Society, of course. He’d proposed marriage a few times. He was one she’d actually seriously considered, only because she knew he’d have no interest in keeping her for himself, but—as it turned out—Phryne was a bit more romantic and less mercenary than he’d assumed. She understood that marriage amongst the peerage was really nothing more than securing alliances, and she never considered herself the marrying kind, but she still felt marriage should involve love, at least a little bit.

“Philip, darling, how wonderful to see you!” She greeted in return, “You know me. Just having a little adventure.” Philip eyed the silent man just off Phryne’s shoulder, “Who have we here?” he asked with a purse of his lips and an arch of his brow. Phryne turned to pull Jack forward meeting his eyes with a wink. He smiled imperceptibly to any but her trained eye. “Philip Howard, Earl of Effingham, may I introduce my partner Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.” Jack tilted his head slightly and smiled a little more, but not effusively, “Lord Effingham, pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand which Philip took with flourish, “Charmed, Inspector Robinson,” he turned to Phryne, “he’s marvelous.”  Phryne wiggled her hand into the crook in Jack’s elbow to grab his arm, “Yes,” she said rather more sharply than she intended, “I rather think so.” Jack glanced at her with a quizzical look. She wasn’t usually this, what was this? Possessive.

They engaged in small talk with Philip for the duration of their wait. He introduced them to his valet Matthew Franklin. Phryne could tell that there was something else between the two besides the role of employer and valet. A bit too much care, perhaps, from Philip for Matthew. A bit too long a glance. A bit too tender a touch.

At last they were called for boarding. They waited in a queue to be lifted up the mooring mast to the 777-foot-long airship. They were lifted to the front of the airship. Jack peered nervously over the side. The gang plank was designed to keep anyone from plunging to their doom, but it was a bit nerve-wracking all the same. “I can do this,” he thought to himself, “this is a perfectly safe means of transport.” His mind was convinced, though his lungs and heart hadn’t received the memorandum.

Once they’d made their entrance past the flap of the entry into the airship proper, it was a different world. All whites and golds and opulence. There was a slight feeling of unease. A tremor to every step. But it didn’t take long to acclimate to the oddness of the place. There were three floors of passenger access. Phryne and Jack found their cabin. It wasn’t overly large, but it was large enough. It had a bed that was _almost_ a double bed. The two trunks had been stacked side by side in the small closet. The bathroom facilities were down the hall. It was luxurious to a degree, but spartan by necessity.

“This is — cozy,” Phryne said as they tried to unpack a little. Jack pulled her to him, and kissed her soundly. “It is.” He agreed, meaning something altogether different than what she meant. The room was small and had no windows, so it felt smaller than it really was. Phryne had initially felt cramped, but with Jack pressing into her, merging his mouth and hands and body with hers, the tightness of the space eased.

They were expected on the promenade deck for the decoupling ceremony. They reluctantly pulled their lips apart and rested foreheads together. “Hold that thought, Inspector,” Phryne breathed into her partner. They were both short of breath. “If I hold it too tightly, I won’t be polite company,” he countered with a smirk. “Mmm. Yes, I’ve noticed.” She could feel his erection twitching between them. Her right hand moved from his side to wedge between them. She graced her hands over the linen of his trousers and then lightly pinched the outline of his firm cock betwixt her nimble fingers. She could feel the warmth of him through the trousers and smalls. Jack groaned. “That isn’t helping, Miss Fisher.” She began to move her fingers up and down along his clothed shaft. Jack’s breath stopped and he closed his eyes. Phryne watched him closely, her forehead still touching his—though he had pulled back so it was his hairline rather than his brow that she felt. He squeezed his eyes tightly against the sensation and began panting. “Phryne…”

She kept stroking him with one hand, but maneuvered the other to work the fastenings of his trousers. With practiced dexterity, she was able to free his aching cock with only a minor disruption to her efforts. When the air hit it, his cockhead seeped and Jack let out a loud moan. Phryne cut him off with a searing kiss as she gripped his shaft below the tip. She ran her thumb over the small slit, spreading his precum around the head. She pulled away and smirked at him as he tried to follow her kiss unsuccessfully. He opened his eyes to try to figure out where her lips had gone and saw her sinking to her knees, her eyes still on his face—smirk still firmly in place. Jack blinked slowly, “I…I thought there wasn’t time.”

“Just an appetizer, darling,” and with that Jack watched as she kissed the tip of his cock. He felt her tongue dart out and the raspy feel of it parting the slit. He reached out for the wall to steady himself. She kept looking him in the eye as her lips closed around the head. He was mesmerized by the strip of red on her upper lip where it met his cock. He focused on the sensation of suction and a subtle graze of the firmness of her teeth. He could feel her drawing him in deeper as her mouth widened and her tongue snaked along the underside of his shaft. He wasn’t going to last very long if she kept doing that thing with her—oh, God! Phryne had never removed her hand, just moved it to the base. He’d been so focused on her lips—now she was still sucking him in and out of her mouth, but she’d added her hand at the base, lightly squeezing the vein on the underside and stroking in time with her suction. She began to stroke faster as his breath became shorter. “Phryne, I’m about to…” She stroked a little faster, sucked a little harder. He felt the surge come and tried to pull away, but Phryne held him fast. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut and his panting turned to short bursts of arrhythmic sound—almost cries—as he came. She kept him in her mouth and devoured him as he spilled down her throat. She continued to clean him with her tongue as he began to soften and as he struggled to catch his breath, still braced against the cabin wall. When she was satisfied he was tidy enough, she tucked him back into his smalls and trousers and refastened him. She stood and inspected him as he barely managed to compose himself. “Appetizer?”  He asked breathlessly. “Mmm. Yes, it was delicious. But I expect a full meal later.” She tugged his waistband pulling him to her and kissed him deeply. He could taste himself, salty and thick on her tongue. “But for now,” she added breaking the kiss and turning to the small vanity to fix her lipstick and check to make sure her fascinator was still in place, “we’re late for the launch!”

They arrived at the promenade deck, late for the speeches, but before the rigid airship had decoupled from the mooring mast. Jack, for one, felt like this was an acceptable loss. The promenade deck had a number of lounge chairs which had been stacked against the wall for the casting-off ceremony. They made their way to the rail and peered over the side through the glass to the ground below. They could see part of the mooring mast and the tiny forms of the ground crew below them. A loud whirring sound and a heavy clang signaled that they were finally cut free the umbilical to mother earth. At first, it seemed nothing was happening; that they were suspended the same as they had been before. Gradually, slowly, they began to rise and the mooring mast passed beneath them.

“Magnificent, isn’t it,” a raspy voice that they couldn’t immediately identify as either male or female spoke next to them. Jack and Phryne had been pressed together observing the ground below. Jack had one hand on the far side of Phryne’s body against the rail as she was tucked into his side, no space between them. Their hands were laced together on the railing. They turned as one to the voice. They encountered a small—less than five feet tall—older woman. It was hard to determine her age, but her face had the evidence of much laughter over many years. Her hair was a shock of white, but it was cut in a style very similar to Phryne’s. Bobbed short and sleeker than one would expect for hair that had seen so many years. She had large round spectacles with thick glass. Her eyes were so heavily lidded that the color could not be discerned from a casual glance in the dim light of the promenade deck. She wore bright red lipstick that matched perfectly her red fascinator and red boa. It completely failed to match her canary yellow dress, but this was a woman who clearly did not care. She was, Phryne decided immediately, delightful. “Yes! It is magnificent,” Phryne responded, “Phryne Fisher.” She offered her hand. “Yes, Miss Fisher. I know who you are,” the delightful old woman responded, “Dame Salome Anders. I know your mother. Delighted to meet you and to see that the apple does in fact fall farther from the tree than I feared,” she turned to Jack, “And you must be her scandal.” Jack raised his eyebrows for a brief moment, “I…suppose I must,” he responded taking her proffered hand to kiss as she was clearly indicating he should, “Jack Robinson.” Dame Salome looked at Phryne, “He’s a charmer.” Phryne smiled at her warmly, “I’ve always thought so.”

“But you’re failing to compensate for the atmospheric pressure!” the trio turned to see a young man of about twenty-five following a man who looked to be about forty. The older man was wearing a uniform with the Royal Air Force insignia indicating he was the captain. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Crocker,” the captain said dismissively to the young man, “that will be all.” The captain stalked away to another man wearing an even more impressive uniform and a beautiful, slender young woman with wavy chestnut hair.  Mr. Crocker had come to a stop near Dame Salome and the detectives. “He’s a fool,” the young man said, apparently to himself, though loud enough for the three to hear him.

“How do you mean?” Dame Salome interrupted his thoughts.

“What? Oh, so sorry. No, it’s nothing,” the young man said.

“I believe if there is something the captain is failing to consider about atmospheric pressure, it’s worth listening to,” Phryne jumped into the conversation, “I’m an aviatrix myself. While I’m not opposed to taking risks, if there’s something we need to know…”

Mr. Crocker was quick to counter, “No, no… nothing like that. It’s perfectly safe,” he had pinched his brows together for a fraction of a second, “at least according to the calculations based on the data I have.”

Phryne nodded at the young man and tried to decide whether to push the issue. “Phryne Fisher, aviatrix… and private detective,” the young man pushed his glasses back up on his nose. He was a little shorter than Jack, he had dark blonde hair which was not entirely contained by pomade. As if he made the attempt with less of the product than one would need to manage successfully. The effect meant that bits of his hair stuck out at odd angles and were not as styled as he clearly intended. He had large brown eyes which seemed larger by the magnification of the lenses of his glasses. He looked at if he didn’t need to shave often, and his skill at it was not well developed. There were places he’d missed, but his face didn’t seem to notice much. He wasn’t unhandsome, but he wasn’t likely to be gracing the silver screen either. “Um… Hello,” he blinked a few times trying to get his bearings. It seemed like meeting new people and dazzling them with his charm was not in his wheelhouse, “Glenn Crocker.” The others introduced themselves as well and they continued in conversation for some time as Egypt fell away beneath their feet.

After an hour or so, dinner was announced and the guests were directed to leave the promenade deck and make their way to the dining room. Dame Salome turned to Phryne and Jack, “I’m to dine with my godson Lord Thomson this evening, but join me later in the smoking lounge,” she commanded. Jack tried to demur, “Oh—thank you for the invitation Dame Salome. Neither of us smoke.”

Dame Salome gave Jack a patient but withering look, “Perhaps not, Inspector, but I do and I have things to say.” Phryne barely stifled a giggle at this. “Ah. We’d be delighted in that case,” followed Jack.

In the large dining hall, they found themselves being flagged down by Philip. “Hello, darling!” he greeted, “come join us!”

Dame Salome had gone to the captain’s table which had the included the two the captain had abandoned Mr. Crocker to speak with earlier and another pair. This new couple was older. The woman was very elegant and richly dressed. Phryne thought she recognized her, but couldn’t quite place from where. Perhaps from a magazine or newspaper. The man had been in the newspapers. Lord Thomson, British Minister of Air. The British Rigid Airship program was his pet project.

Mr. Crocker joined Jack and Phryne at Lord Effingham’s table. They were also joined by a young couple—Princess Valentina and Prince Dimitrie Comanesti, Romanian royals of some sort, though it was unclear where they fell in the succession. They were both in their late twenties and seemed to be distracted by their own thoughts. Whenever the conversation didn’t directly involve them, Princess Valentina’s eyes would wander to the captain’s table.

There were advantages to allying with a notorious gossip. Philip knew everyone and everything. “Lord Thomson is, of course, the Air Minister. The woman is the romance writer Lucile Décaux, you’ve read her?” Phryne shook her head in the negative, “You haven’t? Oh, she’s marvelous. I understand she and Lord Thomson have quite the torrid affair going. He’s never married. I thought for a time he might be willing to have a go, but turned out he’d been pining for her. Anyway, she is apparently married to someone else and Lucile Décaux is only a pseudonym, though I haven’t been able to find out _who_ she really is yet,” Valentina looked at sharply at Philip but said nothing. He continued with his long-winded narrative, oblivious to the effect it was having on the table. “That older gentleman is Air Commodore Douglas Cobb and that lovely young lady is his daughter Emma. She’s betrothed the captain of this beast who has swallowed us, Captain Percy Davis.” Phryne looked at the young woman being lectured by captain. She looked deeply unhappy, “He seems a little old for her,” she mused, “I can’t imagine they have much to talk about.”  Philip arched a brow at her, “Oh my darling, you should know that’s not how this works. Not all daughters are as headstrong as you, my dear girl.”  Phryne frowned, “Well, it’s ridiculous. It’s clear she doesn’t love him.”  Philip studied her for a moment. “When did you become such a romantic, Phryne Fisher?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack have stumbled upon a mystery aboard the airship. They do have a bit of time to themselves, but the atmosphere is all wrong.

“My godson is being blackmailed,” Dame Salome began quietly. Phryne and Jack had retired to the protected (metal lined!) smoking lounge with the older woman at her insistence after dinner. She’d directed them to a quiet corner away from the relatively small crowd in the room—fewer than a dozen at the moment, though the room could hold more than forty. The small, but imposing, snow-capped firecracker opened an elegant mahogany box which was engraved with the phrase  _ totalmente a mano  _ and pulled out a hand rolled Cuban cigar. “Would you like one?” she offered to the detectives—either? Both? No? Neither were interested and politely shook their heads. She clipped the end of the rolled tobacco tube and stuck it in her mouth. It was comically large in her tiny, ruby-lined maw. She lit a match and brought it to the end of the cigar. The cigar was so large, and she so small, that it was difficult for her to reach it without stretching her fingers. She was well practiced at it, though, so in just a few inhales her Cuban was lit and in the same breath she’d flicked the match out.  

“Blackmailed by whom?” Phryne asked. Dame Salome took a few short, sharp sucks on the cigar, holding them in her mouth in contemplation. She blew them out in a ring. After a moment, her raspy voice responded, “I’m not certain,” she closed her eyes in thought.

That wasn’t much to work with, Phryne tried again. “Well, what are their demands? What are they threatening to reveal?” 

The older woman continued to pull smoke from her Cuban as she considered the questions. Finally, she responded, “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Has he told you he’s being blackmailed?” Phryne probed again.

Salome mused, “No. No. He hasn’t said a word about it. That’s what’s so strange.”

Phryne was beginning to get frustrated. “I’m confused, is he being blackmailed, or isn’t he?”  She said this louder than she’d intended, and the other patrons of the smoking lounge stopped their conversation to look at the trio. She smiled sheepishly at them, “London gossip.” And they slowly turned back to their conversation. Jack was barely suppressing a smile. To the rest of the room, he looked completely serious, but when she glanced at him, she could see his eyes dancing with glee. He was enjoying her frustration with this woman far too much.

Once conversations had resumed and outbursts were forgotten, Phryne tried again. Quietly. Calmly. Sweetly, “Dame Salome. You have stated that your Godson, Lord Thomson, is being blackmailed. You do not know by whom, for what purpose, or to what end. Or even, and please stop me if I’m misunderstanding, if he is—in fact—being blackmailed at all. Are these statements, to the best of your understanding, true?”

Dame Salome puffed on her cigar in thought, mentally chewing over all Phryne had laid out for her. “Yes.”

Phryne closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest. Jack’s close-lipped smile broke through for a fraction of a second before settling back to his default position. Phryne collected herself and faced her challenger again, “Then why—why do you think he’s being blackmailed?”

“He’s acting as if he’s in trouble,” she said in the tone of a truly concerned godmother, “and he has secrets.”

They didn’t get much more out of the diminutive dame. By the time they left the smoking lounge, Phryne was well and truly frustrated and Jack was fully smirking. The room had begun to fill up so the conversation had become even less helpful, if that were possible. Phryne doubted it. They made their way to the now empty promenade deck. The lounge chairs had been replaced after this afternoon’s ceremony, but with only darkness below, the view held little interest for the other passengers.  Jack still tried to peer through the glass into the abyss. He reckoned from his study of the charts and his conversation with Mr. Crocker at dinner that they would be over the Mediterranean by now. They had left from just north of Cairo and were supposed to be travelling at a top speed of 60 knots. They’d been going for several hours, so they had to be over open water.

Phryne was pacing. She was absorbed in her thoughts. Jack turned away from the railing and took a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket and crossed his left foot over his right as he reclined in the chair. He laced his fingers behind his head and watched Phryne pace for a few more moments. “We’re not even sure there’s a case here,” he finally broke through her thoughts. She stopped her pacing to look at him. “Jack, there’s something strange going on. I can feel it.” He held her gaze for a long moment and then nodded at her slowly. He held out his hand and she walked over to him slipping her hand into his. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he assured her. She nodded at him. He guided her into his lap, stroking his palm down the side of the midnight velvet of her gown as she came to rest on him. He’d noted earlier that her gown bore the evidence of his hands a little too obviously. He had initially been embarrassed to see his large hand outlined on her derriere, but she seemed to take a perverse pride in it, so he followed suit.

She leaned her head against his chest, wedging one hand behind his back and placing the other on his heart. He slid his hands down to her waist and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “We always do,” he reminded her, “better together, remember?” He felt her nodding against his chest. “I could be wrong, of course,” she pondered, “It could be nothing. Dame Salome could be imagining things or just crazy, and my intuition could be off.” 

Jack chuckled into her hair, “You’re never wrong, Miss Fisher,” he admonished, “I thought you’d realized that by now.” Phryne laughed sharply, “Ha! That’s my line, Inspector.” She pushed away from his embrace and turned to face him on the lounge chair, “What am I going to do with you?” she teased, bringing her hand up to stroke his face. His eyes darkened, “Is that a rhetorical question, or are you looking for suggestions?”

She decided for now it was rhetorical and she stopped any further comment with a searing kiss. He responded enthusiastically, and their tongues battled for dominance for a time. Jack dropped his hands from her waist to her hips and attempted to pull her closer, rocking her body against his growing erection.  Phryne growled and pulled back in frustration. She dropped both hands to the skirt of her velvet dress and hiked it up over her hips, dropping her knees to either side of Jack’s thighs as she shimmied and then dove back into resume kissing him. Her action had knocked his hands away from her hips but now he had access to her bare skin above her stockings and below her camiknickers, and he took advantage by first gripping her there firmly, and then sliding his hands under the silk of her undergarments. He kneaded her bottom, reveling in the feel of the warm soft skin over taut muscle and just the right amount of pleasantly pliant adipose.

Her hands, meanwhile, had been attacking his bowtie. Her mouth was still frantically battling with his, mostly dueling tongues beating and feinting, occasionally with a parry or fleche. Her frustration with the bowtie was starting to become painful for him as she gripped and twisted trying to unknot it. Her knuckles pushing into his throat. “Ow,” he said involuntarily with her tongue still in his mouth, as her knuckle bore into his Adam’s apple. She withdrew sharply, “Oh Jack, I’m sorry!”

She gave him an apologetic smile, and tugged more successfully at the bowtie, letting it fall open. “’S’alright,” he answered gruffly, “and what did I tell you about being remorseful?” he added with a hard squeeze to her ass. She squealed in laughter, throwing her head back. She rubbed silk-clad sex against his tuxedoed length with a groan, and then pulled herself up to gaze at his beloved face.

She looked at him with an expression of pure adoration, “I do love this,” she said, “Us, I mean.” He returned her look and pulled her closer—his voice low and heavy with emotion, “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.” She gripped the now loose ends of his bowtie and pulled him in for a kiss. “Are you Miranda, now?” she smiled against his lips as she unbuttoned his top buttons, “We best hope we don’t run afoul of Prospero’s magic. A tempest in this machine might be a  _ little _ harrowing.” He hummed his agreement and then deepened the kiss.  Jack could feel the dampness of her camiknickers spreading. His long fingers migrated from her ass to seek out the source of the moisture. Her sex was soaking wet and slick as he ran his strong fingers from her opening to the clit she’d been rubbing against his straining, but still completely clothed, cock. He grinned into their kiss as he started teasing her clit with his strong fingers. Her mouth moved up and away from him with a started, “OH!” and a follow-up, “Yes!” as he found his mouth at her chin. Her back had arched when his fingers hit her clit as her body decided to cooperate with his plans.

She decided Jack really was wearing too many clothes. She had managed to get about half of his tuxedo shirt buttons undone. It wasn’t enough. And how was he still wearing his jacket? She pushed the jacket off of his arms. The lovely attack on her clit stopped suddenly, and she pulled back and looked down at Jack confused. Why had he stopped? He was smiling at her, eyes laughing, his arms pinned to his sides as the jacket was still trapping him partially—and now her — on his lap. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Miss Fisher,” he chastised her quietly, “but perhaps we should retire to our cabin.” She rolled her eyes, and then grabbed his face and kissed him again, “Too far,” she tugged the jacket back onto his shoulders freeing them from the clothes trap, “I want you  _ now _ !” she lifted herself up on her knees and unfastened his trousers, “but you can leave your jacket on.” Urging his hips up, she pulled his lower garments down enough to free his cock. She moved her loose, silk underthings out of the way and positioned his cockhead at her drenched opening and sank slowly onto him. Jack’s breath hitched as her wet warmth enveloped him. The skirt of her midnight velvet dress was still bunched around her waist, her stockings were still on, his jacket, her camiknickers, his tie. They were both still fully clothed but they were fully joined. Phryne rose again, but stayed joined. She sank and rose. Again. She began to rise and sink faster, Jack thrusting to meet her. Jack gripped her by her bottom, using it as leverage to pull himself into her. Phryne grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself as she impaled herself over and over. She was so close to release, she felt Jack move his hand around to her clit to help her reach her release and then—the earth moved! No—the deck chair moved! No—the entire promenade deck moved!

Phryne and Jack and the deck chair and all of the other deck chairs slid to the far wall of the promenade deck as if they were on a see-saw at a playground and someone heavy sat on the other side. “Phryne! Stop!” Jack cried out as he tried to shield her from the onslaught of deck chairs as they slid into the wall. Their ears popped and they both became dizzy as they registered a sharp and sudden increase in altitude. After a few minutes, the room righted itself, but the air felt thinner and the dizziness remained. Phryne and Jack were still entwined, still joined, but barely moving. Finally, Jack spoke in a hoarse whisper, as if breaking the silence would cause it to happen again, “Are you alright?” Phryne nodded against him. “You?” she whispered back. “As far as I can tell,” they hadn’t moved a muscle, though she could feel him softening inside her. Pity. “What the hell just happened?” he was holding her tightly to him.

Phryne kissed his brow, as she extracted herself from him, “I’m not sure,” she straightened herself and smoothed her dress, “I guess we’ve got a case after all.” She helped him up as he tucked himself back into his trousers and tried to straighten his shirt. “Close enough,” she offered with a light kiss.

They picked their way out of the mess of (luckily) lightweight deck chairs and left the promenade deck.  It was late, so there weren’t many people around, but there was a flurry of activity in the main passenger lounge. A well-polished elderly woman had fainted and several other passengers were tending to her, some mustachioed relics were harrumphing, crew members were running (never a good sign).

In the hubbub, Phryne noticed Glenn Crocker skirting the edge of the wall. She silently signaled to her partner and they watched as he ducked into one of the crew doors. She turned to Jack and they tilted their heads towards the door in unison. Phryne couldn’t suppress her smile. She’d missed this. The romance with Jack had been a delightful addition to her life, but this—following suspiciously behaving people in dangerous situations—investigating mysteries. This is what they were made to do.

They entered the small crew door, one that had been designed to blend in and be unappealing to the passengers, and found themselves on a narrow metal gangplank in a dimly lit, cavernous room. They could just make out the white of Mr. Crocker’s dinner jacket some hundred feet ahead of them.

“After you, Miss Fisher,” Jack offered in a low voice, though not a whisper as that would have carried more in the echoing room. Single file was the only option on this narrow walkway.

They followed the walkway seemingly for miles, though realistically it couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet. They’d long since lost sight of Mr. Crocker, but they continued onward as there was nowhere else to go. They finally came to a choice. Onward down the ship, or down a ladder into the unknown. There was a glow of light coming from the unknown. Jack didn’t even need to ask, but he thought he’d try to take the lead, “May I cut in?” he asked. “Jack, I’m perfectly capable of handli…” he moved into position and started descending first. “I’m aware, Miss Fisher,” he looked up at her, “but I like the view from here.”  Phryne huffed at him, but decided to forgive him this time. This time. Jack reached the bottom of the ladder first and added more handprints to her velvet gown as she finished her descent. They found themselves in a well-lit narrow corridor with a sealed door marked ‘Command’ at the end. “Looks like your kind of place, Miss Fisher.” Phryne squared her shoulders and took a step forward, reaching for the door, “Right. Let’s see what’s going on.”

They opened the door and found the cockpit in complete pandemonium. There were far too many in the cockpit and everyone was shouting. Jack had shut the door behind them and the two detectives stood and watched Lord Thomson, Air Commodore Cobb, Mr. Crocker, and some fellow wearing flight lieutenant insignia on his uniform as they all tried talking at the same time. Junior officers were also present though not adding to the conversation, they seemed to be madly adjusting instruments and turning dials, flipping switches and looking perplexed. No one was getting anywhere or coming up with any answers. From what they were able to glean from the snippets of conversation the airship had inexplicably gained altitude and speed and now they weren’t entirely sure where they were.

“Excuse me, gentlemen!” Phryne’s loud, feminine, but distinctly authoritative voice broke through the fracas. They all turned to look at the woman intruder on their decidedly masculine space. “What seems to be the problem here?”

Lord Thomson turned to her, “Miss Fisher, isn’t it? Please return to your cabin,” he gave her a tight-lipped smile, “I assure you, we have everything under control.”

Phryne assessed him for a moment, “Really, and the sudden change in speed and altitude?”

Glenn Crocker piped up, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them, Miss Fisher! There’s only one explanation that matches the data!” he was having no luck getting them to listen to him.

Air Commodore Cobb turned to the man with the flight lieutenant’s insignia, “Flight Lt. Dyer says we just hit an odd column of air. Isn’t that right, Dyer?” The flight lieutenant looked a little vexed at being brought into the conversation this way. He didn’t look like he was absolutely certain with his assessment, but Mr. Crocker’s assertion seemed absurd as well. The sky was unpredictable. He’d seen some strange things on this airship.

“No!” Glenn insisted, “I’ve done the calculations several times now. The only way we would have risen this high that quickly would have been to drop ballast.”

Flight Lt. Dyer countered, “But we haven’t! I assure you that we haven’t done anything of the sort.”

Lord Thomson was getting annoyed, “Where the devil is Captain Davis!”

One of the junior officers responded, “We haven’t been able to find him yet, sir.”

Phryne and Jack turned to each other and shared a look. Phryne turned back to the group of agitated men, “Mr. Crocker, how much ballast did you calculate had dropped?”

“I can’t be completely certain, it would depend on the wind speed and the temperature, of course,” he pushed his glasses up his nose in what they’d come to realize was his nervous tic.

“If you had to estimate.” Phryne prompted.

“I’d say between 175 and 250 pounds,” the young man offered.

“I see,” she considered, “feel free to keep looking, Lord Thomson, but I have a sneaking suspicion that we’re not going to find Captain Davis.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack have a conversation with Lord Thomson and discover there was something fishy going on before the apparent body dump.

“Miss Fisher!” After the chaos in the cockpit, Phryne, Jack and Glenn Crocker had been angrily dismissed and ordered from the bridge. They had made their way back to the passenger lounge and had been there for fewer than five minutes before a breathless junior officer found them, “Miss Fisher,” he looked nervously at Jack and Glenn Crocker and then back at Phryne, “Lord Thomson wants to have a word with you—all of you—if you can wait here for a few moments. He shouldn’t be long.” They agreed and the young officer ran off again. It was quite late and most of the other passengers had shuffled off to bed. There was the constant drone of the motors, and their quiet conversation, but other than that, very little sound. Eventually, only the sound of the motors remained.

They had been waiting for quite some time and had exhausted all the available speculation and small talk. Mr. Crocker _(No, please, call me Glenn. My father is Mr. Crocker)_ , Glenn, was writing in a small notebook. From Phryne’s angle. It looked like some form of Greek and numbers—mathematics certainly—but far more advanced than she felt she knew. Phryne and Jack sat side-by-side in club chairs, hands intertwined but each lost in their own thoughts. There was much to consider and it had been a very long day.

They all looked up when Lord Thomson came stalking in flanked by Air Commodore Cobb and Flight Lieutenant Dyer. The lounging trio stood as the officers arrived. “Mr. Crocker,” began Lord Thomson, “Your work thus far has been impressive. I must beg your further assistance on the bridge.” Glenn’s eyebrows shot up above his glasses, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I…uh…of course.” Lord Thomson nodded and turned to Dyer, “Flight Lieutenant, take Mr. Crocker back to the bridge and get to work,” he turned to Cobb, “Air Commodore, get on the radio and contact the Royal Naval fleet.”

Cobb grimaced. “With all due respect, Lord Thomson, if Captain Davis has gone overboard—and I am not completely convinced that he has—finding him in the Mediterranean at night seems a fool’s errand. And as for your intention to involve these…” he waved his hand toward Phryne and Jack, “people…” he practically spat the word, “this is a military matter. These civilians should not be involved.”

Thomson turned more fully to Cobb, “You have made your concerns abundantly clear, Air Commodore. You have your orders. You are dismissed.” Cobb looked as if he were about to speak and then snapped his mouth shut. He turned on his heel and stalked off away from Lord Thomson and the detectives.

Lord Thomson turned back to Phryne and Jack, “Please, have a seat,” he motioned back to the chairs they had vacated to greet him. He sat across from them. “My Godmother tells me you are quite the detective, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne gave him a small smile, “I have had some success in that venture, yes,” she turned to Jack, “my partner Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and I have solved many murders together.”

Thomson turned to Jack, “Detective Inspector?”

Jack smiled, “Uh, Yes, Victoria police.”

“Good. Good,” Thomson steepled his hands to his lips and looked at the floor, “My Godmother also thinks I’m being blackmailed.” Phryne nodded. Jack studied Thomson carefully. He continued, “I’m not. But I can understand why she thinks so. Lucile is… well, Lucile is not her name, she is Princess Marthe of Romania, and she is married to their new crown prince.”

Phryne’s eyes opened a little wider, “Oh, I see,” she said, “I knew she looked familiar. We met at her cousin’s wedding in London several years ago.” Jack continued to listen without comment.

Lord Thomson nodded and continued, “Yes. It was probably foolish to try to travel under her _nom de plume_ , but we get so little privacy. We’ve been lovers for some time, and her husband’s sudden ascendency is—well, unexpected,” he paused searching for the right way to describe the situation, “But Marthe is not the issue. Our relationship is not public knowledge, but it is not the reason I’ve been distracted, despite what Auntie Sal thinks.”  He looked around to make sure they were alone and softened his voice, “I believe some of my men may be keeping things about the airship program from me.”

“What kind of things, Baron?” Jack entered the conversation. The addition of his deep timbre seemed to slightly startle the man and he looked at Jack sharply.

“Oh… um… well, it’s hard to explain other than it seems like our results from the tests have been _too_ good,” he tilted his head at Jack, knitting his brows, “I know that sounds strange. But I expected there to be some small failures at least,” he shook his head, “Air Commodore Cobb assures me that it’s merely nerves, that our engineers are the best in the world, but something seems…”

“Odd.” Phryne finished for him.

“Yes,” Thomson agreed, “Which is why young Mr. Crocker is here. I asked him here as a favor to go over all of the test flight data that Cobb and Davis supplied.”

“Has he found anything?” Phryne prompted.

“Nothing conclusive,” Thomson said shaking his head, “but he agrees that there are some anomalies. Test flights that seem to be taken too closely together. Fuel logs that don’t seem to match reported atmospheric conditions.”

“You suspect fraud?” Jack asked.

Thomson nodded. “But I don’t have any proof. Nor do I have any idea who may have been responsible,” he let out a long breath, “But if Davis is in fact dead—and he does at least appear to be missing—it seems likely that there is something going on, whether it’s fraud or some other plot of which I am unaware.” He took another deep breath and held it for a moment, looking between the two detectives, as if trying to come to a decision.

Phryne interrupted his thoughts, “How can we help?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. After a moment he met her eyes, “Cobb is absolutely correct that any crime committed on this vessel is a military matter, but as the Minister of Air I may authorize you to investigate this matter on behalf of the crown,” he added, “I feel as if the crew may be compromised and I need impartial investigators. Will you take the case?”

Phryne looked at Jack and they had a quick wordless conversation. She already knew the answer, but it was good to have these conversations, tacit or otherwise. She turned back to Thomson, “Of course, Baron.”

Just a moment later, Cobb came stalking back into the passenger lounge. He strode to the three, ignoring the detectives and directing his comments solely to Lord Thomson.

“The Royal Navy has been alerted to look,” Air Commodore Cobb reported, “but, even if there is something to find, it’s unlikely they’ll find anything. As near as Flight Lieutenant Dyer and that Crocker chap have been able to determine, if it was in fact Captain Davis going overboard when we experienced our atmospheric disruption,” he looked dubious, “we would have been over Italian-Libyan controlled waters. Mussolini hasn’t exactly been friendly to the crown.” He had finished his report and was waiting for Lord Thomson to speak, still steadfastly refusing to acknowledge Phryne and Jack.

Thomson regarded what Cobb reported, absorbing it before responding, “Thank you, Air Commodore,” he turned to the detectives and then back to Cobb, “You will give Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson your complete cooperation, Air Commodore. I have engaged their services in the investigation of the disappearance of Captain Percival Davis.”

Cobb sputtered, “My lord, I must obj..”

Thomson cut him off, “Your _complete_ cooperation, Air Commodore. Do I make myself clear?”

Cobb’s face reddened with anger. His nostrils flared and his temporal veins bulged. He kept his arms at his sides, and Phryne noted his fists were clenching rhythmically.  “Yes—Lord—Thomson,” he gritted out through a tight jaw. He finally looked at them. His look made it clear he was not going to make their job easier.

It was late. Very late. It had been a very trying day. Phryne stifled a yawn. “Perhaps you should get started in the morning,” suggested Lord Thomson, “most of the senior officers are not on shift until then.” Phryne nodded, “Of course. Until the morning, Baron.”

 

They made it back to the cabin. Looking at his wristwatch, Jack noted that it was almost two in the morning. They had been out very late the night before for their last night in Cairo, up early to pack for the trip, and now this little adventure. They had been— _intimate_ —most nights (and mornings, and some afternoons as well) since their dramatic reunion.

It had been wonderful, really.

Amazing.

Spectacular.

Exhausting.

Jack was not as young as he once was. He desired her. _Gods_ , how he desired her. He was quite surprised at how spry and able and _ready_ he found himself. He could tell she was tired, too. Her eyes were heavy. She was slightly less graceful than her norm this evening as she removed her earrings and struggled with her fascinator. He moved toward her, “Would you like some help with that?” he offered in his lowest baritone, moving his hands towards her hair. She tilted the fascinator toward him and closed her eyes, allowing him to move his long, strong fingers through her hair to find ends of the combs. The combs had gotten a little tangled during their earlier encounter on the promenade deck, but had miraculously stayed in place. He carefully extracted the ornate decoration from her ebony coif and placed it on the small vanity. He kept one hand against her head, lightly rubbing her scalp with his fingertips as she had pressed against his hand in relaxation. He returned his hand and smoothed her hair and began massaging the other side of her scalp as well, “Mmm… Jack, you’re going to put me to sleep.”  He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Would that be such a bad thing?” he rumbled at her softly. She sighed into his chest, “but we were in the middle of something earlier…” he leaned down, tilting her face up towards his to meet his lips to stop her talking.

“Phryne,” he said after a soft kiss, “It has been a _very_ long day. You are exhausted. I am exhausted,” he kissed her lightly again, “we can continue where we left off tomorrow after we’ve had some sleep.”

She looked up at him, “Are you sure?” her hands ran seductively down his chest towards the band of his trousers, “I want you.”

He moved his hands to the back of her neck to unclasp her necklace, “And I want you, very much. But it will be better if we can stay awake, don’t you think?”

 She pouted at him, “I caaa-an,” yet she couldn’t stifle the yawn, “I can stay awake.”

He smiled at her and kissed her hair. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered, “You go get ready for bed first,” she blinked slowly at him, “and if you are still awake when I get back, you can have me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Jack,” she reached her lips up to his and sucked on his lower lip. He groaned and tried to pull away, but she held his lip firm between hers, preventing his escape. His eyes rolled back as he felt the suction pressure on his lip and imagined it elsewhere. He finally escaped her pull. “Go. Get ready,” he directed huskily. She grabbed her small bag and left the cabin to head down the hall to the single shared hall bath on this corridor. He ran his hand over his face. Jesus, he was tired. He also wanted her. He always wanted her.

Fewer than twenty minutes later, a fresh-faced Phryne in an embroidered silk robe stepped back into the cabin. He loved all the faces of Phryne—but Phryne free of makeup, free of her mask, her costume, was his favorite Phryne of all. She leaned up to him again, whispering against his lips, “Be quick, Inspector.”

He was. He washed his teeth and brushed his face… or was it the other way around? He looked at himself in the mirror. “You’re looking old, Robinson.” He hoped she didn’t see him like this, this tired old man in the mirror. She certainly didn’t act like she did. She acted like she thought he was a lad of eighteen, he chuckled to himself. He really hoped she saw him as an equal. He quickly changed into his pajamas and robe.

He returned to the cabin to find Phryne in her silky peach pajama set. She was reclining on her side, propped up on an elbow with her cheek in her hand, her other hand languidly draped over her hip. She had a pose of seduction and—he imagined, had her eyes been open and had she not been lightly snoring—a come-hither look. Jack smiled to himself. She really was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He was always hesitant to tell her that. Afraid that it would be just another drop of water in an ocean of compliments about something she didn’t really value. She was always praised for her beauty. Not that she didn’t like to be beautiful, she did. But that was for her own reasons. Her own pleasure.

He loved her for more than that, of course. She was brilliant and kind and strong. She was also stubborn and reckless and impossible. He loved the whole of her. It was in these quiet moments however, these moment when she was asleep, that he could truly drink in her beauty.

He reclined facing her, and watched her for a few minutes, mirroring her position. He finally leaned forward and kissed her forehead as he reached past her to turn off the light. “Jack?” she mumbled.

“I’m here. Go back to sleep,” he pulled her into his embrace and she snuggled into his chest.  “I’m awake,” she said in a very sleepy voice.  
“Is that so?” he smiled against her hair. He felt her nod lightly against his chest. “Mmm-hmm,” she angled her head up to kiss him. The kiss was soft at first. Lazy and warm. Soft lips massaging each other gently. Without removing her lips from his, Phryne suddenly inhaled sharply through her nose and pressed her lips more insistently against his, now pushing her tongue through his lips to stroke his tongue with hers. She shifted her body, pressing it firmly against his side. She pulled back slightly from the kiss, drawing his lower lip between hers in a mimic of her earlier actions. “Please, Jack,” her voice still had a whisper of sleep, “I won’t be able to sleep.” His cock was definitely interested, though not yet achingly so. He really didn’t want to disappoint her, but he was struggling to stay awake. Her undulations against his side were helping him stay alert and (nearly) ready. 

She met his lips again, bringing her hand up to his head so she could bring him closer to her. He stroked his fingers over the silk of her pajama top. Phryne’s breath quickened at the sensation of his fingers tracing patterns on the silk.  She loved the feel of his naked fingertips, but the layer of silk in between added a diffused glow to the sensation. His hand travelled to her waist and found the drawstring for her pajama pants. He tugged at the cord and the knot loosened instantly, “Seems a little easier to untie than my bowtie,” he quipped against her lips. She smiled against his, “I guess I know how to tie my knots a little more cleverly than you do.”  He groaned at her and pushed his tongue into her mouth now. With the pants loosened, he easily snaked his hand between her legs searching for her sensitive bud in her ( _oh God, so very wet_ ) silky curls. His fingers found the prize but skirted to either side, teasing it, circling and pulsing. Phryne pulled away from their kiss, with a moan. She was starting to pant, her breath becoming shorter and faster as Jack’s fingers started rubbing faster and much more artlessly against her clit. “Ja..ja..” her head fell back against his shoulder and she splayed further open. Jack was also panting now, his fingers strumming furiously against her sex. “I’m come... I’m coming,” her back arched and Jack felt the wetness of his hand suddenly increase. He slowed his actions some until she wiggled to get her overly sensitive clit away from his fingers. He rested his hand on her curls for a moment, watching her breath calm in the faint light from the transom. Once she’d stilled he extracted his hand from her pajama bottoms, bringing his fingers to his mouth to clean them as she watched him with heavily lidded eyes. “Better?” he asked with a smirk. 

She grabbed his hand and pulled it to her mouth tasting herself, “Much, thank you,” she could feel his partial erection pressing into her leg, “What about you?”

He pulled her back into the embrace he’d held her in before things got heated. “I still want you,” he admitted, “but I also want to sleep.” 

Phryne’s lids were closing and she tried to stifle a yawn. “I don’t want you to be unsatisfied, Jack.”

Jack chuckled lightly, “Phryne, I have never been happier in my life,” he spoke into the top of her head, lightly squeezing her to him, “but I’m perfectly satisfied just having you in my arms.”

“Mmm… but still,” Phryne protested sleepily.  She snuggled closely into him and moved her hands to his pajama top buttons and managed unbutton the top one before he heard her breathing get slower and her hands stopped. He rolled his eyes, smiling to himself. He kissed her once more on the top of her head “Good night, Miss Fisher.”  And drifted off to sleep to the sound of Phryne’s breath and the whir of the airship’s engines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Thomson and Princess Marthe (and Lucile Décaux was her nom de plume... she is _fascinating_ were real people and really lovers. Their affair however was totally common knowledge and her husband was cool with it. He had his own affairs. He was also not the crown prince, just a high ranking Romanian noble. Alt universe people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack take a little time in the morning to discuss the case and see to other pressing matters. Smut. This chapter is mostly just smut. They do discover something important (so, if the smut isn't your thing { _why are you reading an E fic?_ } skip to the line break pretty close to the end of the chapter.   
> (Edit... I've since changed this to an M rating. I think the smut is borderline.. but there isn't quite as much of it as would warrant an E, I think. In the early chapters there is but after chapter 4, there isn't time...)

His first awareness as he began to wake, was that his shirt was open. He could tell because of the unusual coolness on his chest. He knew he’d buttoned it. He dimly remembered that Phryne had managed to undo the first button before falling unceremoniously asleep. He was becoming aware that that there was something warm and wet and wonderful going on in the region of his navel. He hesitated to open his eyes because he was afraid it might break the spell. His shift in breathing must have alerted her to his wakefulness because the lovely thing she was doing with her tongue ceased.

He opened his eyes and looked down his torso to see a pair of sparkling blue eyes smiling back at him.

“Don’t stop because of me,” he encouraged.

“Good morning, Jack,” she propped her chin on the hand she had resting on his taut belly and ran the fingers of her other hand through the light smattering of hair on his sternum, lightly scraping his skin as she did. 

 _Right._ Phryne on a mission was an early riser. Not that early, apparently. They could hear the sounds of life outside the cabin door. Doors banging, loud conversations, and laughter all indicated that it was a new day. Smells wafted through the airship coming up from the bottom decks, coffee and tea and baked goods. This had been billed as a floating hotel, and though some amenities were spartan by necessity, it did not disappoint.

Phryne pushed herself to a seated position and returned her hands to Jack’s body. She smoothed her palms over his chest and up to his shoulders, pushing the blue Egyptian cotton pajama shirt away from his pectoral muscles as she moved. He was all sinewy muscle and deliciously pronounced clavicle. His skin was warm and firm. Jack Robinson kept himself in very good physical condition, and Phryne found she was exceeding fond of his physical condition. She moved her leg quickly over him to straddle his upper thighs—anchoring him—and pulled at his lapels to sit him up, allowing her push the shirt completely off his body.

Once his upper body was naked, he wrapped his strong, wiry-muscled arms around her midsection and pulled her closer. She, in turn, wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Only the silk of her nightwear and the atoms separated their torsos as they squeezed ever closer together. Their lips were touching but they had not yet kissed. “Good morning,” he hummed back at her, lip-to-lip, “What’s on the agenda for today, Miss Fisher?”

She could feel his morning erection pressing into the crease of her ass between the layers of their respective pajamas. The back of her nightshirt left an expanse of exposed skin. He was presently blindly untying the corded tie holding it to her body. His coarse fingertips sending little shocks of pleasure through her spine as he worked. She nipped at his lip before plundering his mouth with her tongue until the cord was completely loose. She broke the kiss, breathing heavily, “We need to interview Princess Marthe, despite Lord Thomson’s assurances.”

Jack moved his hands to the hem of her shirt and pulled loosened garment over her head. He returned his hands to her back and pulled her towards his very eager lips. “Agreed,” he rumbled against her before invading her mouth again. She pulled away slightly which urged him to began nibbling and kissing her chin.

“And of course,” she husked out as his lips traveled to her earlobe, “we need to take a very close look at— _oh_ —Cobb and— _ah_ —Dyer,” she ground down onto his pajama-ed length eliciting a groan.

“Of course,” he moaned into her ear, nipping at the sensitive skin below it. Licking after each nip. His lips traveled to her neck, his hands moving to cup her bottom. He squeezed her closer.

“And I’d like—mmm, oh Jack—to talk to,” he hiked her up to get access to her breasts, “Mmm, oh yes—I want—I want—I want to talk, mmm, to Princess Valentina Comanesti.” His mouth had found her breast, “Mmm?” he queried sucking her nipple, quirking his eyes and brows up at her. “Yes! Oh, yes, mmm—she was, umm, too interested in the Captain and his table at dinner. Oh God!” her head dropped back in delight and to give him better access to her breasts as he resumed lavishing attention on them.  “Besides…OH YES! She’s also...” she gripped his shoulders tightly, digging her fingernails into him. She squeezed her legs around his midsection pushing the air out of his lungs causing him to gasp for air as she said, “Romanian!” He looked up at her, panting for air but smirking.

“By accident… most strange… bountiful Fortune?” he breathlessly rasped up at her. He continued gazing at her lovingly as his breathing normalized, lightly tracing his fingers along her naked spine.  “Now my dear lady, hath his enemies brought to this…um… _vessel_?”

She looked down at him and stroked his face lovingly, “I don’t like coincidences, you know that. And it seems like an awful lot of Romanians of royal extraction claiming not to know each other to not ask at least a few questions. Especially with a missing captain whose zenith was most inauspicious.”

She dipped her mouth to his, sipping at his lips gently for a moment. She felt a twitch of his cock between her covered folds and moved the kiss from “gentle” back to “plundering”. The kissing was getting more frenzied. They were going to need to address the need between them very…very…

“Jack, wait! Stop! Mmm… stop…!” She pulled away suddenly.

He also pulled back, stunned, “What… what is it? Did I hurt you?” he knitted his brow in concern.

She pushed herself off him and moved towards the toilette bag, “No… no… nothing like that… I can’t remember if I have my... _device_ … in or not… I remember removing it last night when I was getting ready for bed, but I don’t remember if I reinserted it or not…” she turned back towards him, “You’ll remember I was rather sleepy.”

He blinked at her a few times nodding.  Finally, he stopped, narrowing his eyes, “How can you not know?” he asked incredulously, “Can’t you feel it?... You know…” he made a suggestive gesture with his hand, “ _In_ there?”

She turned to him, exasperated and rolled her eyes, “Oh _God_ , no,” she dismissed his question, “Ugh, can you imagine? That would be awful… I can feel it when insert it… of course… but once it’s in place and has been there for a while, I don’t notice it… and even so we’d need this…” she held up the tube of spermicide.

He nodded at her, in semi-understanding. He lowered his eyes and then glanced back at her with what could best be described as a _smoldering_ look, “Would you like me to check?” he quirked up a corner of his mouth in a sultry smirk. “I do know what it feels like.”

She dropped her head to the side and cocked her eyebrow at him, “Very well, Inspector.” She untied her pajama bottoms and let them drop to the floor, stepping out of them as she walked back to the bed. “Inspect me.”

He eyed her with hungry intent. “I need to be thorough, of course.” He pulled her over to him and reclined against the pillows. “Of course,” she replied in a sultry whisper.

He urged her to straddle him again, this time with knees on either side of his head. He brought his hands up between her folds to separate them. “Let’s see what we have here,” he said with his best _Detective Inspector Jack Robinson_ , official investigative voice. He made a small show of inspecting her folds, quirking his eyebrow up at her, he guided her down to his mouth. He looked up at her over her taut belly and the slight swell of her breasts, and gave her clit a light suck. She moaned and ground her pelvis against his mouth, “That’s not where it goes and you know it, Inspector.”

He pulled his mouth away enough to speak against her pussy-lips—the vibration caused her to shudder with delight— “No. But I do like to cover all the angles.” He returned to the task at hand… or rather tongue and lips… with gusto. Sucking and swirling around her sensitive bud. She arched her back to allow him better access to breathe as he delighted her from below. The warm pleasure between her thighs… the humming of his delight in her… were building pressure in her core. He held her firmly by the hip with one hand as his other hand snaked past his chin and started probing into her channel. He started tentatively with one finger, moving within a few thrusts to three as she rocked on his face.

She looked over her shoulder at his lower body, writhing on the bed as he delved into her cunt. His pajamas were straining a tent and the Egyptian cotton material was damp with the evidence of her arousal and the spreading wetness of his seeping cock. She looked down at him again, eyes closed in concentration as he worked his fingers and mouth. She reached her hands behind her, searching for the drawstring of his bottoms. She found it, deftly untying it and freed his cock from its restraint. She brought her hands to her mouth generously licking each palm. Again, she reached behind herself feeling for his thick, velvety warmth now bobbing on his belly. With her hands stacked on top of each other, her shoulders pinned back, and spine arched, she gripped his straining erection.

Jack let out a vibrating moan as she started rubbing his length vigorously.  He paused his own efforts for a moment to catch his breath, extracting his hand from her pussy.  Looking up at Phryne, it struck him that she was like some sort of masthead goddess cresting the waves of the sea. He anchored her thighs and set to work furiously fucking her with his tongue. His sudden furor spurred her hands to move much faster along his shaft. She felt his warm cock becoming hot. She felt it pulsing and could tell he was extremely close. He started exhaling quickly against her clit. It was the growl that did it. A deep, animalistic growl erupted from his chest as cum erupted from his cock. He’d made his tongue rigid as his head shook violently between her thighs. Wave after wave of pleasure hit her as her thighs quivered around his ears. She released his still sputtering cock, lurching forward to grab the wall as she struggled to regain her focus.

She dismounted and rested on her side facing him. She glanced down his body admiring him. She eyed his still semi-erect cock sticking out of his blue Egyptian cotton pajama bottoms… his taut belly had evidence of his orgasm splattered in no particular pattern, mixed with the sweat of exertion… the light hair on his chest was also damp from sweat and probably her own orgasmic release... her eyes moved up to his face… light stubble was glazed with her. He was watching her watching him. She leaned to kiss him, tasting her own salty honey on his lips.  
“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he smiled smugly.

She rolled her eyes, “Well?”

“Well what?” he asked confused.

“Jaaa-acck! Was my diaphragm inserted or not?” She asked with a mixture of annoyance and mirth.

“Ah… Right… well, there’s good news and bad news on that.” He offered.

“Well, what’s the good news?” she asked.

He pulled her in for another lingering kiss. “That you are the most amazing woman in the world and are utterly intoxicating.”

She kissed him deeply, loving their mingled taste, lapping her own flavor off his chin and cheeks. After several— _several_ —long minutes of kissing, limbs tangling, and resurgence of his cock making a firm argument for delaying their morning plans… she pulled back.

“What was the bad news?” a slightly dazed Phryne asked huskily.

 “The bad news is it isn’t there,” he said wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Jack!” She lightly smacked him on the shoulder.

“Owww…haha” He laughed lightly in mock injury. Jack had always been wryly playful, that hadn’t gone away once they became lovers. If anything, he became much more playful. At least in their private moments.

“Damn.” She extracted herself and walked back over to the bag she’d brought to the shared bath the previous night and started moving her clothes around madly searching for it. “Found it!” she sang out holding it up in triumph.

There was a loud knock at the door. “Miss Fisher?” They both turned toward the door with wide eyes and froze.

The knock came again, “Miss Fisher?”  Jack collapsed against the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Phryne dropped her diaphragm back in the bag. “Damn!” she said quietly.

“Just a minute!” she called through the door. She spotted her robe and threw it on over her naked body. She grabbed a hand towel off the vanity and tossed it to Jack who started cleaning the worst of it. He fumbled his way to standing and adjusted himself as well as possible, grabbing his own robe. They gave each other a quick once over to make sure they wouldn’t mortify whomever was at the door, and then Phryne went to open it.

“Yes?” She was greeted by a young crew member who couldn’t have been more than twenty, probably younger. The lad looked like he didn’t yet shave. He made the Hugh Collins Phryne met in the Andrews’ home seem positively cosmopolitan. The look on his face indicted that their efforts not to mortify were unsuccessful.

The fellow blushing in front of them was about Phryne’s height. He had dark hair, buck teeth, and huge, thick ears that stuck out a little too far. They were bright red. Though, in fairness, it seemed like they might usually be bright red.

“Uh… Miss Fisher… Lord…um… Lord Thomson, said to say,” he looked up at the ceiling as if he hoped the script for his speech were written there. Phryne put her hands on her hips and focused on the lad, “Yes?”

“Um… He wanted me to tell you…that we found the…” he looked at her dumbly for a few heartbeats as she silently willed him to continue. “The… um… uh…” Phryne and Jack exchanged a look.

“Did something happen?” Jack asked, trying to be helpful prompting the boy…young man… he nodded at Jack saying, “They found blood.”

“They found the primary crime scene?” Phryne asked brightly, eschewing her earlier annoyance at her morning ravishment of Jack Robinson being interrupted. The young crewman nodded quickly, smiling at both them. “Yes… yes… that’s it.” He confirmed, “That’s what he said, ‘Tell Miss Fisher and the Inspector bloke that we’ve found the primary crime scene.’”

“Wonderful. Where?” She still wasn’t sure about this young man. He was darling, but clearly not that bright.

“Oh, I’m to take you there,” he responded.  
“What’s your name?” she asked the terrified young man.

“Flight Cadet Goff, Ma’am.”

“We’re going to need a few minutes to freshen up,” she countered.

“Oh,” he said shortly, looking down. He turned red suddenly, and then looked at both of the detectives quickly, “Oh… um… of course. Um… alright. I’ll just be right outside ma’am.”

“We can find you in the lounge, Flight Cadet.” Phryne attempted to get some of her privacy back.

“Oh… it’s not a bother miss…I have my orders.” The flight cadet was not getting the hint.

Phryne went to shower first as her post-shower routine took longer. She emerged from the room in an ivory Deco pantsuit with an Egyptian flair which she had picked up from an up-an-coming couturier in Cairo. The fashion of Cairo ranged from very conservative to _très moderne_. This particular couturier catered specifically to wealthy Brits enchanted with the mystique of ancient Egypt. The effect on Phryne was a sort of _Cleopatra for the modern age_. 

They were both clean, dressed, and following young Flight Cadet Goff down a long metal walkway after twenty minutes or so.

  

* * *

 

 

“Miss Fisher, Inspector Robinson. So good of you to join us.” Lord Thomson was standing on a metal grate platform over—over nothing, really. Clouds and sky and a bit of the Mediterranean were visible through the grate, but nothing else. An occasional tendril of wind would lick through the space. He was there with two other flight cadets who were making notes in small books.

There was a caged ladder descending from the platform. As they peered down the ladder they could see there was some sort of trapeze set up harnessing a Bristol Bulldog aeroplane to the ladder.

“I’ve always wanted to fly a Bulldog!” Phryne admired the plane from above.

“Yes, well, that may have to wait Miss Fisher,” Lord Thomson pointed down rear rudder. “It seems to have sustained some damage.”  
“Really!?” and she started to launch herself headfirst down the ladder to take a look. Jack caught her by the hips, pulling her back quickly. “Oof… Jack! I’m not going to fall… I’m just having a look!” She turned to him to see he was looking very ill-at-ease. “What is it?” she looked at him concerned, “Are you ill? Jack… you’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“No, no, Miss Fisher. I’m not afraid of heights,” he said peering anxiously through the grates, keeping one hand on the railing at _all_ times. “Heights… heights are fine… it’s the impact force of landing _after_ a fall from a great height that has me concerned,” Her face softened, “I’ll protect you, Jack.”  
“By launching yourself into the void?” he countered tersely.  
“Don’t be like that. I had it under control, Jack,” she volleyed back slightly annoyed. He rolled his eyes and looked away with a clenched jaw.

“If you two are finished?” Lord Thomson cut in. Phryne kept her slightly annoyed glance on Jack for a beat as she responded, “Yes. Quite,” then turning to Thomson, “What is it you’ve found?”

He looked between the two of them and then quirked is brows up, “Right. So…if you… carefully…” he added in deference to Jack, “look there,” he turned and pointed towards the attached aeroplane, “notice there is damage to the fin and stabilizer. It wasn’t like that yesterday. It was tip-top shape.”

“I see. It looks like there might be blood as well,” Phryne was peering more carefully than she originally began. Jack’s interest perked up and he overcame his aversion to looking down through the grate to observe. They studied it from the platform for a few minutes, trying to work out whether a body might have left the airship voluntarily or with assistance. It was possible, they discussed, that he committed suicide or fell and the blood they could see came from the impact of his body on the aeroplane or the rigging as he fell.

Phryne stood and walked over to the far side of the platform as the others continued to study the attached damaged Bulldog.

“Baron?” she called over to him. Thomson, Jack, and the three flight cadets all turned as one toward the lady detective. “I think we have at least part of our answer over here.”  The air minister joined her to see what she’d found. Jack stood and tentatively made his way over to where Phryne was crouched as well.

“There isn’t much left because of the grated floor, but this is also blood. And from the area, it looks like quite a lot.” She looked at the railing around the platform, “and see here? This is freshly dented. No rust. There was a struggle here.”

Jack crouched next to her studied the things that she pointed out and then met her eyes and nodded, silently agreeing with her assessment.

“What are you saying, Miss Fisher?” the air minister asked.

“What I’m saying Baron, is that we may not have a body,” she stood facing him, “but we definitely have a murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know none of the R series (R100, R101, the planned but scrapped R102) had the biplane trapeze launch/landing platforms -- but it's a ridiculous design oversight in my opinion and since its my universe, it does now.
> 
> The breathless quote from Jack and eventual volley back from Phryne are from William Shakespeare's _The Tempest_. He quoted it earlier on the Promenade Deck as well. Apparently, magical storms are on his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More suspects. More clues... and apologies to those here for the smut... less smut. It'll be back. Eventually. I promise.

 “I think we should split up,” Phryne said absently after she’d been looking through some of Davis’s papers for twenty minutes. Her head was still down reading through Davis’s private journal for any sort of clue about what could have contributed to his murder.

Flight Cadet Goff had led the detectives to Captain Davis’s quarters after they’d studied the launch platform as much as they could. The room was cramped and ugly. Function dominated severely over form. Not the small but opulent charm of their cabin. This room had the feel of a naval bunk.

Jack stopped his own search and stared at her, color draining from his face, mouth slightly agape. He sat dumbstruck as she continued to read. He ran through the tiff on the platform and tried to figure out if he’d overstepped his bounds by not allowing her to pitch herself headlong off the airship. He didn’t _think_ he was being too controlling of her. He certainly wasn’t trying to control her. He thought they were getting on rather well. Surprisingly well.

He knew when he followed her that it was a risk. He had finally decided to take that risk. Finally decided that the heart would be broken either way, he may as well have the joy to temper the pain. He never really expected this—whatever this was— _love_ affair to last, but he thought it would be something more dramatic than…

“Jack?” he realized that he was staring at her but not really seeing her. “Jack, darling… what’s wrong?” She put her papers down and walked quickly over to him, feeling his forehead and cheeks for fever. “Are you sure you’re alright? That’s the second time you’ve looked ill today.” 

He drew his eyebrows together in confusion. He had a sudden suspicion that he’d missed something terribly important. He started to blush. _Of course._ Even a careless Phryne would never be that cruel. He dropped his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat, “Um… just now when you said we should split up?” she pulled back and gawked at him completely stunned… “You thought?” he looked at her nodding in embarrassment. 

Phryne threw her head back in laughter. Jack looked up at her relieved that it had been a misunderstanding, but also deeply ashamed. Ashamed that he still didn’t trust her. Trust _them_. To be fair, though—they never really discussed it. They just were. He chuckled lightly with her uproarious laughter. Still feeling left out of the joke.

She had tears of joy streaming down her face as she finally started to collect herself, “Oh, darling… _no_ ,” she leaned down and kissed him soundly, and then stilled her laughter completely, maintaining her affectionate smile, “No… no. I meant to interview suspects,” she inveigled her way into his lap encouraging him to set his paperwork aside, “ _If_ …and that is a very big if… we ever have to have that particular conversation,” she kissed him lightly and cupped his cheek lovingly, “It won’t be over something as silly as you being too overprotective.”  
He kissed her back, “Too overprotective? Because I tried to stop you from jumping out of an airship?”

“I wasn’t jumping, I was leaning,” she countered, “I had it completely under control.” She lowered her eyes and then started stroking his lapel, “But in the spirit of trying to be accommodating, I’m sorry I didn’t notice how uncomfortable you already were out there.”

“Apologies again?” he teased her. He felt much more at ease now that they had this little talk. But a niggling thought in the back of his mind told him they were going to have to address this in much greater detail. Soon.

“Not for what I did,” she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, “I stand by that. For not taking your feelings into account. I’m still learning this relationship business, you know.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile “I’m not exactly an expert at it myself.” She grabbed his face and kissed him again, “Then we’ll figure it out together,” she smiled at him, “That’s what we do best after all.”

His arms slid around her waist, and she dipped her lips to his again, kissing him lightly. He returned the kiss, deepening it. His hands drifted south and he began to lightly knead her bottom, pulling her closer with each flex of his wide grip. She looped her arms around his neck, playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck as they lost themselves in kisses. His growing need was becoming obvious between them as she sat on his lap. She felt his hands move up to the back clasp of her pantsuit and then she inhaled sharply, pulling back. He blinked his eyes open in confusion, tongue still out searching for hers. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed back.

“And this is precisely why I think we need to split up… just for some of the investigation… we’ll cover more ground,” she bobbed her head from side to side as she looked up, acknowledging that they were nowhere near the ground, “so to speak… if we can focus on the case and keep our hands off each other for five minutes.”

“What happened to figuring things out together?” he smirked at her, panting slightly, one hand still firmly on her bottom, “what we do best?”  She could still feel his erection straining against his trousers as she sat on his lap.

“We’re still together, Jack… just dividing and conquering.” She smiled at him smoothing her hands down his chest toward his waist, “I expect a full… _debriefing_ … in the cabin later.” She leaned in and kissed him again, snaking her hand into his jacket. He whimpered just a bit when she pulled away.

“Very well, Miss Fisher,” he smiled at her lightly and gave her ass a squeeze, “how do you want to divide and conquer?”

She’d taken a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and was cleaning the lipstick off his face. “You start with Cobb and Dyer,” she said as she wiped his lips clean of her signature color, “I’ll tackle the Romanians.” He raised his eyebrows at her in acknowledgment as she launched herself off his lap. He winced at the loss of her, or possibly the graze of his erection…

“What about,” he waived his hand around the captain’s quarters, “all of this?” 

She grabbed a couple of notebooks and a stack of files, handing them to Jack. “We’ll go over these later in our cabin…” she grimaced, “surely we can spend a little time on this? After… or before…”

He took them from her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “Surely.”

She placed her hand on his still-tented crotch and rubbed him firmly through his trousers. She moved her mouth a hair’s width from his lips, but when he moved to kiss her, she stopped him. “Uh-uh-uh,” she sing-songed at him, “I’m afraid this will have to wait for now, darling.”

He growled at her, “That’s not fair, Miss Fisher.”

“No?” She purred at him.

“No,” he moaned, but with a twinkle in his eye that told her he was enjoying this game, “there will be consequences.”

She leaned over to his ear and whispered sultrily, “oh, I hope so, Inspector.”

 

  
They exited the captain’s quarters to find Flight Cadet Goff leaning more at ease than protocol demanded. He struggled to regain his footing as they moved past him down the hall.

“Uh… Miss… Um… Miss Fisher… where,” he quickly walked to catch them, “where do you need to go? I can take you wherever it is.” The detectives stopped and turned to each other, silently communicating before turning on the young man.

“Mr. Goff,” Phryne began, “we need to go in separate directions. I only need to go as far as the lounge, but the Inspector here needs to return to our cabin and then to the bridge. Could you escort him there?”

“I… uh… of course…“ he looked confused, “I was told to stay with yo-…”

“Oh, I’ll be fine!” Phryne assured him with a smile and a wave of her hand, “Just a few inquiries I can make from the comfort of the passenger areas.”

“Right. I suppose that’s alright,” the flight cadet looked confused but smiled back when Phryne smiled sweetly at him, turned and continued walking. Jack gave him a tight smile and followed her. Their befuddled guide brought up the rear.

 

 

“Phryne! Darling! Oh, my word! Did you hear?” They’d no sooner entered the passenger lounge when they were set upon by the well-tailored Earl of Effingham. Phryne bid a silent farewell to Jack with a caress of fingers and a loving glance as he nodded and continued on with Flight Cadet Goff. She turned toward her friend, “Philip, good morning.”

“You _have_ heard, haven’t you? Is it true?” he whispered conspiratorially. She gave him a pensive smile. “Is what true, Philip?” He placed his fingertips lightly against his chest in the approximation of affront.

“Well!... Has the captain really been murdered?”  Phryne didn’t truly believe he could be offended, this was all for show.

“It seems that way,” she said carefully.  
“You know more…” he read her accurately, “alright, Phryne… spill.”  
She smiled sympathetically, “Philip, I’m sorry… I can’t… I can’t…”  He pursed his lips at her.

“Miss Fisher!” a gruff voice called from across the lounge. They turned as one to see the diminutive Dame Salome furious waving her over. Phryne closed her eyes in frustration plotting her escape until she realized she’d seen that the little Lady was breakfasting with Lucile Décaux. Lucile Décaux otherwise known as Princess Marthe of Romania—who was at the top of her interview list. Phryne turned toward Philip, “Philip, darling, I promise I’ll give you _some_ dirt, but right now, I really must go speak with Dame Salome and company.”

He huffed at her, “Fine,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “but you owe me, Phryne Fisher.” He kissed both of her cheeks and sashayed off to speak to someone arguably more important. Phryne took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, and strutted over to where the ladies were sitting. As she neared she noticed that the lovely young woman with the wavy chestnut hair who had been with Cobb and the captain and another young blonde woman were with them.

“Miss Fisher!” Dame Salome rasped out, “Please join us. Have you dined?” Phryne realized that she was quite hungry and felt a pang of guilt that Jack hadn’t had any breakfast yet either. _Other than_ _her_ , she smiled a quiet smile to herself at the memory of their delightful, though woefully short morning.

“Oh, no, I haven’t. Thank you, I would be delighted to join you,” she turned to the other women at the table as she took a seat, “The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, pleased to meet you.”

Princess Marthe looked at her appraisingly for a moment before introducing herself, “Lucile Décaux,” she said meaningfully. She met Phryne’s eye, willing her to play along for the benefit of the others at the table, but clearly, she remembered Phryne as Phryne remembered her. “Pleased to meet you, Madame Décaux.” She turned to the young women she did not yet know, “And you are?”

Dame Salome turned to the blonde woman, “This is my companion and lady’s maid Ann Cortland.”

The blonde woman did not crack a smile at all, “Miss Fisher.”

“Miss Cortland,” Phryne greeted her with a nod. She had an odd way about her, Phryne noted.

Sensing she wasn’t getting far with the odd Miss Cortland. She looked at the other young woman. “And you?”

The young woman with chestnut hair blushed slightly, not used to being drawn into the conversation. For most of the morning, she’d been sitting in silence while these mavens of personality carried on around her. “Oh… I’m Emma. Emma Cobb,” she said in a small voice, “I’m Air Commodore Cobb’s daughter.”

“I see,” said Phryne.

Dame Salome quietly added, “Miss Cobb was also the fiancée of the now late Captain Davis.”

Emma Cobb dropped her eyes, as if she were grieving, but Phryne noted that they were dry and lacked any real distress. She seemed so uncomfortable with Davis the night before and Phryne wondered if she wasn’t somewhat relieved to hear of his demise. Perhaps relieved enough to have been a party to the act. She made a mental note that Miss Cobb would need to be questioned as well.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Cobb,” she said gently. The young woman seemed to be feeling oppressed by this new attention on her and started fidgeting with her earrings, glancing at Phryne with a close-lipped smile, “Thank you, Miss Fisher.” 

They spoke mostly of London and the “Season” which was soon over _(blissfully to Phryne’s way of thinking)._ Emma Cobb again faded into the background as they spoke. Phryne watched her. She wasn’t really listening to the conversation of these ladies of leisure. She was looking across the lounge at something else. Phryne furtively glanced in the direction of Emma’s gaze to see what held her attention. She raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise when she realized it was Glenn Crocker that caught the young woman’s attention. He, in turn, seemed to be oblivious to her notice. “ _It could be an act,”_ she thought. Worth talking to him as well, at least. She made another mental note that Glenn Crocker needed to be questioned as well. She was snapped out of her mental notation by Dame Salome standing _(though the difference between sitting and standing was not that stark for her)_.  

“Miss Fisher, Madame Décaux, Miss Cobb, I must take my leave,” she announced pulling a cigar out of her bag and moving toward the smoking lounge. Miss Cortland followed her silently.

Miss Cobb stood as well, “Apologies, I must go find my father.” She curtseyed slightly to the women and scuttled off leaving Phryne alone with _Princess Incognito_.

They studied each other for a moment. “Nice to see you again, Marthe,” Phryne began. Princess Marthe smiled at Phryne lightly, “Thank you, Phryne,” she said, “for not saying to the others… who I am. Things are… delicate… at court now.” Phryne raised an eyebrow. “I thought dalliances were of no consequence? At least if I remember your husband correctly.”  Marthe chuckled lightly.

“It’s true. And I do love my husband… in my own way,” she smiled sadly, “but with the child currently on the throne being deemed unfit, George is ascending… and Europe is getting restless again… and…”

“Things have gotten complicated?” Phryne supplied. Marthe nodded picking up her teacup. “Dame Salome seems to think that Lord Thomson is being blackmailed… though he denies it.”

Marthe took a sip, raised her eyebrows and considered for a moment. “No. He isn’t,” she looked down, “But someone I care for is.” She looked back at Phryne. The lady detective studied her for a few moments.

“I see,” Phryne spoke carefully. “The other Romanians?”

“Valentina,” Marthe said softly, “is my daughter. I was not expecting to see her aboard this vessel.” She set her teacup back on the table, taking a deep breath as she did so. She closed her eyes as she gathered her thoughts. At last she looked at Phryne, “We have not spoken in some years. Her decision to marry Dimitrie was… not pleasing to us. Dimitrie Comanesti, my daughter’s husband is a cousin… distant… but part of the line. That was not the problem. I believe has hopes to displace George… and he has connections to Mussolini. There are those in Romania that would welcome it… but most would not…”

Phryne took all of this in quietly. “Valentina is being blackmailed?”  Marthe nodded.

“She came to me last night after dinner. We haven’t spoken in so long,” her voice cracked with emotion, tears in her eyes, “I thought she looked to reconcile, but she was asking for money.” She looked away. “Someone has threatened to expose his connection to the fascists. To the plot to depose King Carol… “

“Potentially problematic,” added Phryne, “for all of you.”

“Yes,” Marthe agreed, “Though it would be easier for my husband if Dimitrie were not in the picture, but it would destroy Valentina. The scandal would be intolerable… We love our daughter more than we need the money.”

“So… now you find yourself on an airship with your lover and your blackmailed child amidst a murder investigation,” recapped Phryne, “Not exactly avoiding a scandal.”

“Not exactly, no.” Marthe had to agree.

“Is there any possibility that Captain Davis may have been the blackmailer?” Phryne asked.

“I’m not sure,” Marthe carefully responded after some thought, “I suppose it’s possible. Kit… Lord Thomson… and I dined with him last night, of course. He was a boorish man… I’m sorry, it is rude to speak ill of the dead.” Phryne waived away her apology. “But he didn’t seem to be overly concerned with anything except the ship. He was a bit of a bully to dear Emma, such a dear girl… And he and Douglas… Air Commodore Cobb did seem to be quite at odds. But he gave no notice to my Valentina. Not outwardly, at least.”

“Really? That is interesting,” Phryne gave a close-mouthed smile to the Romanian princess, “Marthe… or _Lucile_ … thank you. You have been most helpful.” The two women stood and embraced.

“Thank you for keeping my confidence, Phryne,” as she kissed each cheek.

Marthe wandered off toward the cabins. Phryne headed to the promenade deck.

As she entered the promenade deck, she spied Emma Cobb and Glenn Crocker standing side by side at the railing, peering through the glass to the sea below. They gave no notice to another person entering the deck. It was fairly busy here. Several passengers were lounging on the deck chairs which had once again been placed out. Phryne absently wondered which one was hers and Jack’s, but didn’t look too hard for it.

She sidled over to the rail to see if she could overhear anything before interrupting them.

“Why hydrogen? My father said it’s flammable.” Emma Cobb asked Glenn Crocker as they looked over the side of the airship into the water below.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, not quite willing to look at her. He didn’t seem to have a natural way with pretty girls. “Uh… yes… right… it is… very flammable… and potentially quite dangerous,” he agreed with her, “but it’s the most common element, and so much lighter than air.”

“How much lighter?” Emma asked. He waved his hands back and forth a bit.

“Well… it’s complicated… ‘air’ isn’t really a thing in strictest sense… it’s made up of all kinds of different gasses primarily nitrogen and oxygen, of course, but also argon and carbon dioxide… water vapor… dust particles… ash… “

“Really? It has all of that? It looks like nothing.” She was completely spellbound by the young man. He was oblivious.

“Well… yes… and other things… all manner of biological material… spores… fecal matter… hair… you name it.” He started to look a little uncomfortable.

“Fascinating! But why not helium? I’ve heard of some airships using that. And that it’s not flammable.”

“It’s expensive. And rare. With hydrogen… it’s… well, common. And if the tests are correct, this ship should be perfectly safe,” he added.

“Even after the accidents the American’s had?” She asked.

“Even so,” he agreed.

Phryne finally decided to cut in, “Couldn’t find your father, Miss Cobb?”

Emma turned around, surprised. “Oh! Miss Fisher… Um… no, I couldn’t. I… uh… ran into Mr. Crocker here… “

Phryne smiled at them, “I’d very much like to speak with you both.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is on his own to do some _private_ investigating this time. Can he _handle_ working without Phryne? These puns are awful. Some more clues. A little masturbatory smut.

“Phryne! _Darling!_ Oh, my word! Did you hear?”  Jack looked up to see the form of Philip Howard, the fifth Earl of Effingham approaching them, swooping in out of nowhere. Jack was trying to keep the stack of notes and journals from the captain’s quarters in front of his now slightly less prominent erection, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered. Lord Effingham was on a gossip mission. Jack reflected he had become quite adept at this particular maneuver since Phryne entered his life. Phryne turned toward Jack and reached gently for his hand, lightly caressing his fingers. She met his look with a mixture of desire, love, and promise. For not the first time, certainly not the last, Jack thought _“This woman is going to be the death of me.”_   He gave her a private smile. A smile that only she could peg as a smile, nodded, and followed Flight Cadet Goff to their cabin. As they waked away, he heard Phryne say in a slightly exasperated tone, “Philip, good morning.”

Jack and Flight Cadet Goff walked back to the cabin. “Um… Yes, I need a few minutes… to… uh… ” Jack gestured to the pile of documents he carried.

“Right! No problem, sir. I’ll be right outside here…” Goff supplied helpfully. Jack considered him for a moment. “Right… Here’s the thing… I haven’t had anything to eat yet today… I was hoping I could ask you to grab me something while… I skim over these?” Jack flashed him a tight smile.

Cadet Goff stared at him blankly for a few beats trying to work out whether it would be better to do as Jack asked or stick to his orders… orders from which he was already deviating. “Um… well, sir… I was supposed to stay with you and Miss Fisher…”  
“And I’ll be right here until you get back,” Jack assured him.  Goff stared at him dumbly for a long moment before nodding.

“Of course, sir… I’ll… I’ll just be back in just a few minutes, then sir,” Goff informed him.  
“Wonderful. Thank you.” Jack smiled again and closed the door on the flight cadet. He closed his eyes shaking his head.

He opened them again and looked down at the pile of documents. Jack turned around and looked at the chaos of contained within. He thought that the airship had a housekeeping service, but apparently, they had not yet made it to the room. The bed was still in disarray and their clothing was still strewn about the cabin from the morning’s activities. He smiled at the memory. Remembering how magnificent she was.

Jack set the documents on the vanity and picked Phryne’s pajama bottoms off the floor where she had dropped them earlier in the morning. He caught the lingering scent of her arousal as he went to move them to the back of the chair and his cock twitched at him in response. He looked over his shoulder… _For what?_ He chastised himself. There was no one here. He brought the pajamas closer and inhaled deeply. The erection he had been slowly suppressing since Phryne’s teasing in Captain Davis’s quarters suddenly sprang back to life. It hadn’t ever gone away, but he felt a surge of arousal straining at his trousers. Perhaps, he should take care of this now. He had a few minutes before Goff would be back. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back with Phryne… and even when he did get back to her, he wanted to be… _controlled_. The way she left him in the captain’s quarters was, he felt, a little unfair. He would never presume to take anything from her, but he was a little concerned that if he didn’t _handle_ things now, he might be a bit _unrestrained_ when the time came to be with her again. The thought floated through his head that it might be worth asking if Phryne would be willing to be restrained. She’d mentioned it in passing before… not since they became lovers, but he did have to admit the idea was somewhat alluring. He hoped it wouldn’t be taken the wrong way. He’d read about it as a form of love play, but of course… before her… there wasn’t really a lot of variety. Her. He thought again about her. Her scent. Her hands. Her lips. Her pussy.

He fumbled with his trouser fastenings and smalls and took ahold of his throbbing cock. He gripped his shaft just below the head and tugged. A deep moan escaped involuntarily from deep in his chest as he tugged and pulled at his erection. He let his thumb glide over the head of his cock, slicking it with the beads of precum that were forming there, and closed his eyes imagining that his thumb was Phryne’s nimble tongue. Glancing down, he realized that the pajama bottoms were still clutched in his hand… the hand not furiously tugging at his cock. He brought them up to his face and took a deep breath, allowing her scent to fill his nostrils completely. The addition of her scent heightened his arousal and he began pulling and tugging faster. Faster and faster he tugged and pulled, panting and breathing in essence of Phryne as he stroked.  
He was so close, but some distant part of his brain told him that he was going to have a mess if he didn’t have something to spill into. He spotted the towel from his earlier cleanup and releasing his member to grab the cloth, he quickly reached for it as he started to come, realizing much too late that it felt as silky and wonderful on his cock as the silk at his face. He dropped the pajama bottoms from his face and looked down at the cloth in his hand containing his softening cock and the evidence. “Damn.” He had grabbed Phryne’s pajama top and not the towel as intended. He inspected it… she was not going to be able to wear this again without laundering it. That was clear. He shoved it into the bottom of his bag.

There was a knock at the door. “Inspector Robinson… sir… I have your breakfast…” Cadet Goff called through the door.

“Right with you, Mr. Goff… Just finishing up this… um… file… “ Jack grabbed the towel and cleaned himself. He tucked back into his clothes, rolling his eyes. Somehow over the course of last few weeks he’d gone from middle-aged man to randy teenager. Yes, Miss Fisher would be the death of him. He smiled to himself. Oh, but what a glorious death it would be.

He quickly put the documents taken from Davis’s quarters into the vanity drawer, and opened the door to see Flight Cadet Goff holding out a steaming pasty and a cup of tea for him.

“Breakfast has gone for the day sir… but I reckoned… well… sir… I reckoned that this would fill in well enough…” Goff indicated toward the hand holding the pasty.

He reached for the pasty first as he stepped over the threshold, “Oh… bless you, Mr. Goff!” and took a bite of the beef and potato filled delight, humming in delight. Pulling the door closed behind him he mumbled with mouth full of food, “perfect.” And reached for the cup of tea. Mr. Goff beamed at him. It was clearly not often the poor lad got something so utterly, magnificently _right_. He seemed to puff out his chest a little in response.  
“Where to, Inspector Robinson?” Goff asked with gusto.  Jack chewed a few more bites of the lovely pasty and took another swallow of tea.

“Take me to Flight Lieutenant Dyer, Mr. Goff.” He finally directed. Goff grinned back at him.

“Yes sir!”

They found Flight Lieutenant Alexander Dyer on the bridge. Since the disappearance and most likely murder of Group Captain Percival Davis, Dyer was the ranking officer with actual experience flying the airship. Certainly, Air Commodore Cobb and Lord Thomson outranked him within the Royal Air Force, but neither one of them could actually operate this behemoth. They understood it in theory. They understood the big picture. They didn’t understand the mechanics. Alex Dyer was, at the beginning and end of the day, a mechanic.

“Flight Lieutenant, might I have a word?” Jack began after he’d been on the bridge long enough to see that Dyer was not actively engaged in anything that required his immediate attention. Dyer looked up in acknowledgement, giving Jack a curt nod. Turning to the pilot he spoke a few words and then moved toward Jack and Flight Cadet Goff.  
“Flight Cadet, you are dismissed,” Dyer said to Goff. He then turned to Jack, “How can I help you, Inspector?” Goff faded to the back of the bridge.

“Is there somewhere we can speak privately, Flight Lieutenant?” asked Jack. Dyer cast his eyes around the bridge. There really wasn’t anywhere to go here.  
“I can’t go far,” he looked around with thought, “We can go to the walk. Lord Thomson has ordered we give you and Miss Fisher our complete cooperation.” Jack nodded at him. Dyer turned to the pilot, “Humphreys, I’m off the bridge.” Humphreys acknowledged him and Jack and Dyer climbed up the ladder to the narrow metal walkway above the bridge.

“What can you tell me about Captain Davis?” Jack began as they settled into relaxed leans against the walkway railing.

Dyer raised is eyebrows in thought, as if trying to decide which bits to share and which bits weren’t worth the trouble.

“He was a damned good pilot. Best I’ve ever seen… knew this machine inside and out,” Dyer looked down, “There were some things…”

Jack paused before saying anything, trying to let the silence speak for him. He’d found in his years as an interrogator that silence was sometimes the most profound statement one could make. He just held his gaze at Dyer. It worked.  
“Some things made me uncomfortable,” Dyer finally continued. Jack sensed that he was going to need to probe a little, but there were fissures here he could work with.

“What things?” Jack asked softly.  Dyer glanced at him. Jack held his face as non-threatening possible.

Dyer searched his fingertips for answers to that, “I… I wasn’t really sure… until…” he looked back at Jack, “Look… I’m not even sure now… but after working with that Crocker bloke… I think that Davis may have falsified some of the test flights data… ”  Jack’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise.

“That’s a pretty serious allegation,” he noted, “What makes you think so?”  
“I was looking through the data logs that Crocker was working off of… some of the test flight data… and my name was on one of the test flights… several actually… but one in particular I knew was for a date I couldn’t have been on the flight,” Dyer was speaking quickly, looking around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.

“Are you sure?” Jack probed.

“Very,” Dyer confirmed with a smirk, “It was my wedding day. I have my bride and about a hundred witnesses who can confirm I was not on the R101 that day.”

“Why would Davis falsify that information?” Jack asked, “And are you sure it’s Davis that did it?”

“There are only three people who could have done it, as far as I know,” Dyer said, “Davis, Air Commodore Cobb, and Lord Thomson.”

The door to the bridge opened below them and Humphreys climbed up the ladder. “Flight Lieutenant, you’re needed on the bridge.”

“Do you need anything else, Inspector?” Dyer asked. Jack shook his head.

“Ah… not at the moment, Flight Lieutenant. You’ve been most helpful.” Jack thanked the man. Dyer nodded at him, “If you would wait here a moment, I’ll have Goff escort you back to the passenger area.”

Jack waited, mulling over what he’d been told. He had a hard time buying Thomson as a conspirator as he brought Phryne and himself into the case, but he couldn’t be discounted either. Cobb however was worth a closer look. He didn’t believe Dyer had anything to do with either Davis’s murder or any corruption. It was only a gut feeling, and he wasn’t going to write him off the list yet, but he couldn’t see there was any motive. If he couldn’t find Cobb, he wanted to get back to the cabin and take a closer look at some of the files from Davis’s quarters. Not that he wouldn’t appreciate Phryne’s help in going over them, but he had less—academic—pursuits in mind with her the next time they crossed paths.

Goff escorted Jack back to the passenger cabin area. As they were nearing Phryne and Jack’s cabin, they heard the sound of several raised voices followed by a _SLAM_ of something heavy against metal. They looked at each other in confusion and then Jack, trailed immediately by Flight Cadet Goff took off running in the direction of the commotion.

As they rounded the corner of the passenger cabins, they found Prince Dimitrie Comanesti of Romania holding Philip Howard, the fifth Earl of Effingham up against the wall by his throat. Princess Valentina Comanesti, daughter of Prince George of Romania, the presumptive crown prince was hanging off of one of Dimitrie’s arms—trying to free Philip, and Philip’s manservant Matthew Franklin was hanging of the other. “You little _snop curv_ _ă_!” Dimitrie was snarling at Philip. Philip was starting to turn bright red.

Jack launched himself into the fray, putting pressure on Dimitrie in just the right spot to make him release Philip and keep him under control, “ENOUGH!” Jack shouted to get everyone’s attention as he pinned Dimitrie into submission. With his eyes blazing and nostrils flaring, he pinned each of them with a glare, “Now… what the _hell_ is going on here?”

Philip was slumped against the wall, rubbing his throat and coughing. Dimitrie was squirming against Jack unsuccessfully. Dimitrie was a large man, but he was no match for Jack’s wiry strength and police training. Matthew was tending to his master. Valentina was turned away from all of them with her head in her hands. Flight Cadet Goff looked as if he were poised between the desire to stay and help, or running for reinforcements. Finally, Philip caught his breath and stopped coughing enough to speak, “His highness didn’t care for my cravat.” Valentina whipped her head around, narrowing her eyes at the man who just spoke. From Jack’s grip, Dimitrie growled, “It’s true. I do not care for his clothing.” Jack rolled his eyes. “If I let you go, your highness, will you promise not to attack me or anyone else?” Dimitrie nodded meekly. Jack released him and the Romanian stood up flexing and stretching his arms.

“It’s all a big… misunderstanding,” Dimitrie said casually, “Apologies to your tailor, Lord Effingham.” He sneered at Philip and stalked away, grabbing Valentina’s hand and dragging her away as he did so.

“Brute.” Philip said once Dimitrie was out of earshot.

“What the hell was that all about?” Jack asked Philip with a glare. Philip reached out to flick some non-existent lint off Jack’s shoulder.

“I’m sure I don’t know, Inspector,” he said unconvincingly, “but thank you ever so much for coming to my rescue. Men like that are just absolute gorillas!” Jack glanced down to his shoulder to follow the trail of Philip’s fingers. “I can see what Phryne sees in you!”

“Uh… Thanks… but what was that really about?” Jack wasn’t particularly bothered by Philips attentions, he just didn’t completely understand them.  

“Cravats." Behind them, Matthew cleared his throat. "Sorry… Must run… Ta-ta!” Philip and Matthew took off in the direction opposite the Comanestis.

Jack looked at Flight Cadet Goff and raised his eyebrows. Goff sent back a wide toothy grin.

“Right… well… unless you know where Air Commodore Cobb is at this moment, I guess I need to start reviewing some notes.” Jack shared with the young man.

“I don’t… I… mean… I could go find out and let you know? Would that be good?” He was so eager to please, this boy.

“Yes, Mr. Goff,” agreed Jack, “That would be marvelous.” Goff smiled at him. Jack paused, considering, “First though… do you think you could find me another one of those pasties and some more tea?”

They walked back toward Jack and Phryne’s cabin. As they approached, Jack registered that a woman with blonde hair was exiting the cabin with something in her arms. At first, he thought nothing of it, as all the doors looked the same, but it gradually dawned on him that the door she was exiting was his.

“Oi! Stop! What are you doing?” the blonde woman paused but did not look back, she took off running, dropping one of the items as she ran. She continued without it. They gave chase around a few corners, but she disappeared before they could catch up with her. Jack didn’t recognize her, and without seeing her face wasn’t sure he could identify her again. He thought he’d noticed several blonde women on board the airship, so “slender blonde woman, average height” wasn’t going to be much use as a description. He turned to Goff. “Do you know who that was?”

“No… no, sir… I don’t.” Jack went back to the item that was dropped and picked it up. It was one of Davis’s journals.  
“Damn.” He really should have secured the documents. He would have done had he not been busy… relieving the tension.

He looked at the journal and then back at Goff, “Well, if you can get me that pasty and tea, I’ll see what I can make of this.”

“Yes sir,” Flight Cadet Goff hurried off to the galley.

Jack went back to the cabin to try to salvage what he could from the remaining notes. The rest of the documents from the vanity were gone. “Brilliant, Robinson,” he berated himself, and sat heavily on the bed, flipping open the journal.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack have a chance to compare notes. (no smut... but there _is_ cuddling, shared baked goods, and banter)

“I’d very much like to speak with you both.” Phryne said to the two young people standing before her on the promenade deck.

Emma Cobb’s eyes widened slightly. Glenn Crocker pushed his glasses up his nose. Again. _He really ought to get those adjusted_ , thought Phryne. Emma wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at the floor.

“Certainly, Miss Fisher… Uh… what can I… um… what can we do for you?” stammered Glenn. Phryne appraised the pair. They appeared to be around the same age, and though they didn’t have an easy intimacy, it seemed they had perhaps a _familiarity_.

“I have a few questions about the two of you, really,” Phryne began, “Have you met before this flight?”

Emma’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. Glenn let out a laugh, “Hah… Funny you should ask that! Emma… er… Miss Cobb was just reminding me that we were neighbors when were children!” He turned to her, “Isn’t that right, Miss Cobb?” She gave him a small smile and sideways glance. “I mean… what a small world, really….”  
  
“Yes, it’s a very small world,” Phryne agreed, “You only just realized this?”

Emma nodded, “When mother died… “ her eyes filled with tears and she bit her bottom lip.

Glenn took up the story, “It’s been so long. Her mother passed away when we were… what was it… nine… ten?”

“I was nine,” She said very softly.

“Right, our birthdays were only a week apart… so, I must’ve been as well,” he looked down kicking at his feet, “The Captain… er… Air Commodore now, I suppose… they left. I didn’t know what happened… I guess…” he smiled sadly at her, “I guess I do now.”

“And you haven’t had any contact since then?” Phryne asked.  Glenn shook his head, and then looked down at the floor again, slightly abashed.

“I… actually… I tried to write to you… “ he said shyly to Emma.

She turned to him with starry eyes. “Did you?”

He nodded.  “I… I did… but I didn’t know where to send the letters… “ he shrugged sadly, “I’m surprised you remembered me now, to be honest.”

She smiled very sweetly at him, “You were my best friend in all the world, Glenn. I’d know you anywhere.”

Phryne didn’t think she’d seen the girl look so happy since she first spotted her. For his part, Glenn was gob smacked. He was staring at the girl with mouth agape and soft eyes. She felt terrible intruding on this sweet moment, but… needs must.

“Miss Cobb, how long were you engaged to Group Captain Davis?” Phryne asked. Emma’s face darkened again.

“Ah… Not long… father, he… arranged… We were engaged only last month,” She said finally with a tightlipped smile that did not reach her eyes.

“How long had you known him,” Phryne probed, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

The young woman shook her head lightly, “No, it’s fine. I’ve known him for most of my life… I suppose… he is.... was a colleague of father’s… but I…”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t really know him,” she said softly, “The engagement… it was not. I was not…”

“You were not consulted,” Phryne guessed.  Emma nodded.

“That’s awful!” Glenn spoke without thinking. Emma turned to him shrugging, “I didn’t have any other choice.”

“There’s always another choice…” Glenn protested. He reached his hand out toward her, but pulled it back turning toward the railing.

 _Probably not a conspiracy here_ , Phryne thought with a sentimental smile. _God, where did that bit of sentimentality come from?_

“Miss Cobb… Emma? Do you know where I can find your father?”

Emma Cobb shook her head, “I haven’t seen him all day, Miss Fisher,” she said.

Phryne drew her brows together, then smiling placidly at the two, thanked them and took her leave.

Phryne wandered down the promenade deck glancing occasionally over the side. Emma Cobb probably did warrant a little closer look, but she didn’t truly believe that she conspired with Glenn Crocker. Their sweet reunion seemed to Phryne to be genuine and fresh.

_SLAM!_

 All of the eyes on the promenade deck turned as one to the mezzanine balcony above them as the door slammed open. A large, well-dressed man was pulling a beautiful woman behind him. “Ah. The Romanians.” Phryne said softly to herself. She followed them with her eyes, then moved to intercept where she thought they might next turn up. They were a level above her, and so she had to make some educated guesses on their route. She exited the promenade deck and headed up the wide staircase to the second level, crossing away from the deck toward the dining hall.

She cut through the large room heading toward the smoking lounge. They were getting things set up for the lunch hour, but they were still an hour or so away from beginning the lunch service. There were a few staff members setting tables, but they paid her no notice as she crossed through to the opposite door.

Phryne quietly exited into the hallway. With only a fraction of a second to react, she registered the click-clack-click-clack of running heels and plastered herself against the wall as a blur of blonde and chartreuse ran past her. “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” she shouted after the runner. “How rude!”

She continued on toward the smoking lounge where—as anticipated—she encountered Dimitrie and Valentina Comanesti. They both looked very distressed.  
“Princess Valentina, Prince Dimitrie, how delightful to see you again,” Phryne decided dignified airs were her best bet with this lot, “Have you enjoyed your voyage so far?”  There were certain niceties that she could force playing the aristocracy card.  
She watched Dimitrie tamp down his irritation, “Miss Fisher, lovely to see you. It was a great pleasure to dine with you last evening,” he said with a complete lack of conviction, “we have indeed enjoyed our time. And you?”

“It has been most interesting,” she nodded toward them, “I was hoping I might have… a private word with the two of you.” 

Valentina paled. She looked quickly at her husband who would not look at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Fisher,” he apologized, “Another time, perhaps. We have a prior engagement.”

“I see,” Phryne was not quite ready to back down, “In that case, I insist you do me the honour of joining me for tea this afternoon.”

Prince Dimitrie’s jaw clenched and his temporal artery was visible, but he ground out a tight smile. “We would be delighted to join you, Miss Fisher.” He gave her a short bow and yanked his wife with him into the smoking lounge. _What an ass._ Phryne thought with a sneer at the man.  

She wanted Jack. She always wanted Jack—but right now seeing that brutish, bully of a man who reminded her a little too keenly of other brutish bullies of her past—she wanted nothing more than to curl around the man who was the opposite of that.

It was more than that. Right now she really felt she _needed_ him. Her Jack. 

The man who listened. She shook her head.

Phryne walked toward the passenger cabins. On her way, she spotted Flight Cadet Goff walking carefully in the same general direction. She caught up to him easily. She noticed he carried a wrapped pasty in one hand and a full cup of tea in the other, carefully minding his step as he walked.

“Hello, Mr. Goff,” she greeted him, “Where are you headed with that?” she raised her eyebrows at the food and drink in his hands.

“Oh…” he said nearly dropping the tea… then the pasty… then the tea… then the pasty…”Oh… Miss Fisher… I, was, I just… uh… Mr. Um, I mean, Inspector.  Inspector Robinson, he said… and then, there was a fight, but he stopped it, see… but I think he… um… may have lost something?”

“Mr. Goff!” Phryne interrupted.

“Yes, sir! Ma’am… Yes?” He asked meekly.

“Are these for the Inspector?” He nodded at her. “Perhaps I can help you with them?”

“Oh no, Miss Fisher!” He protested.

“Mr. Goff, I really do insist.” She took the tea and the pasty from him and walked toward the cabin she shared with Jack. “Take a break, Mr. Goff.” She called over her shoulder.

“I’ll… uh… I’ll just go look for Air Commodore Cobb, then… shall I Miss?” Flight Cadet Goff called after the raven-haired beauty, “Like the Inspector asked? Miss?... Right…”

 

When she reached the cabin door, rather than just entering, she decided to knock. The Jack who opened the door had removed his typical _Jack_ armor. He stood before her in rolled up shirtsleeves without a tie. He was still reading when he answered the door and didn’t immediately register that it wasn’t Flight Cadet Goff who had knocked. “Just set it over there,” he waived his hand toward the attached shelf doubling as a desk.

“Room Service,” she sang at him.

He looked at her with mouth agape, shocked that she wasn’t a bumbling flight cadet. The shock wore off quickly and a smirk spread across his face, “Is that full service?” 

She set the food and drink down on the counter. Quite unexpectedly she wrapped her arms around his chest pressing her cheek against his heart.  This was not a slow, seductive Phryne maneuver—no, this was—a hug. The kind of hug that was knocking the wind out of him.

“Oof...” he moved his arms around awkwardly to try to drop the journal and hold her in return, “Hello? What’s brought this on?” She was still squeezing herself tightly into his chest as if trying to wrap herself in a protective _Jack_ coating.

“Nothing, really” she spoke against his chest. He brought his hand to her hair, stroking it and leaning down slightly to kiss the top of her head. Her whole body sighed against him.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Phryne?” he asked softly one hand smoothing her hair, the other holding her firm against him. Both of her arms were still tightly wrapped around his torso. He felt her head nod against his chest and she pulled back slightly as she looked up at him, “I love you.”

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. They had exchanged words of love several times—since reuniting in Egypt—but it was still a new experience. “Not that I’m complaining, but what have I done to deserve an ‘I love you’?” She smiled warmly at him, “I just…I just love you.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. He spoke against her lips as he pulled away, “I love you, too,” and then pulled back farther, “but is that really all?” he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I heard a rumor you were in a fight,” she said. He looked at her in confusion. “And that you lost something?”

He rolled his eyes, “Goff,” he turned in her arms and looked at the pasty and the tea on the counter, “What did you do with my cadet, anyway?”

“Your cadet?” She released him from her grip and allowed him to go get his food, “When did he become your cadet?”

“About the time the Earl of Effingham came swooping in, I think, mmm…” he said the last with a bite of pasty in his mouth. She plopped on the bed and picked up the journal. After swallowing the bite, “Speaking of which, the fight you mentioned involved him.”

Phryne gawked at him, “You fought with Philip! How could you! He’s a lamb!”

He gave her a side smirk, “I didn’t fight _with_ him,” he clarified, “and I’ll have you know, I rescued him.”

“Rescued him… from whom?” she perked up.

“Some of your Romanians, actually,” he said with another bite of pasty.

“Really?! The Comanestis?” he nodded, taking a seat next to her on the bed. She took ahold of his wrists and bit into his pasty with a quirk of her eyebrow. “Mmm” her eyes went wide in delight.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded, chewing. “What happened?”

“I’m still not sure,” he answered, “we were coming back from talking to Dyer…”

“Oh, how did that go?” she interrupted.

“Do you want me to finish this story or don’t you, Miss Fisher?” he said wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

“Please.”

“We were coming back from talking with Dyer,” he said meaningfully to her, “and we heard a commotion. Comanesti had Philip pinned up against the wall. Mr. Franklin and Princess Valentina were trying to stop him but… “

“But you had to save the day?” she offered.

He tilted his head in response, “I suppose I did.”

“What were they fighting about?” she asked.

“According to both of them, cravats.”

Phryne laughed, “Damned cravats.”

He smiled back at her. She leaned over to him and kissed his cheek then grabbed for another bite of his pasty.

“Hey!”

She chewed and swallowed, “Anyway, I don’t think that’s it.” He looked at her inquisitively.

“The Comanestis are being blackmailed… well, Valentina is at least… on Dimitrie’s behalf…” she said, “After what you’ve said, I would bet it’s Philip doing the blackmailing.”

“Really? Why would he do that?” he wondered.

“We’ll be sure to ask him,” she leaned against his shoulder, “Now are you going to tell me about Dyer?”

He turned his head and kissed her hair, “Isn’t it your turn?” popping the last of the pasty into his mouth.

She sighed against him. “Oh yes, Valentina Comanesti is really Marthe’s daughter… and, as I said she’s being blackmailed… Emma Cobb barely knew her betrothed… _and_ is apparently an old friend... though not in the way you’re thinking… of Glenn Crocker’s… Your turn.” She absently pulled his hand into hers lacing their fingers.

“Right… well, I haven’t found Cobb the elder. I asked Mr. Goff to look for him after he brought me…” he waved his hand at the cooling tea and the paper that had been wrapped around the pasty, “I can only hope that after you waylaid him he continued onto the second part of his mission.”

“I didn’t waylay him, Jack,” she protested, “I merely assisted in the delivery.”  He winked at her and carried on.

“I _did_ speak to Dyer. He thinks that some of the test flight records for this vessel were falsified, and only Cobb, Davis, or Thomson would have been able to do so.”  

Phryne sat up and reached for the remaining journal, “Really? That is interesting!” she flipped through the journal then started scanning around the room, “Where are the other documents, Jack?”

“Ah,” he said rubbing his hand over his hair, “about that... remember you asked about losing something?”

“Jack!” she was flabbergasted, “how could you lose those documents!”

“I didn’t,” he replied, “They were stolen.”

“Stolen! How?” she demanded.

“Mr. Goff and I were coming back from breaking up the fight between your Earl of Effingham and the Romanians and we spotted a blonde woman leaving the cabin. We gave chase, but… couldn’t catch her.”

“Well… who was she?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t turn around, so I didn’t see her face. All I can tell you is she was blonde, slender… she was wearing…”

“A chartreuse day dress with small navy polka dots and a navy bow at the neck… that fails to complement her colouring almost entirely?”

“Uh… I didn’t see a bow… “ he said carefully, “which one is chartreuse?”

“Yellowish green,” she considered, “or greenish yellow… like the liqueur.” Jack raised is brows in acknowledgment, and then smirked at her slightly.

“Developing your mind reading skills, Miss Fisher?” he guessed.

“Nothing so ethereal,” she rested back against him, “I ran into your thief… or rather, she very nearly ran into me near the dining hall.”

“Do you know who she is?” he asked.

“Mmm… I do,” she confirmed, “I’m not quite sure yet what she has to do with all of this, but we’ll be talking to her soon.”

“Are you going to share?” he asked.

“I don't think you've met her yet, but she’s very close to our dear Dame Salome.”  


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack find some more clues and learn more about how things are connected together. They are much closer to finding the truth, but they seem to have lost their prime suspects.

“What do you think this… what did you say her name was?” Jack asked.

“I didn’t. Miss Cortland. Ann Cortland,” Phryne reported.

“What do you think the connection of this _Ann Cortland_ is to Davis?”

“I’m not sure… but she came running by me carrying an armload of… apparently… stolen documents. Did you see anything related in the remaining journal?” Phryne asked.

Jack’s brows arched up, “Possibly,” reaching for the document in question and starting to leaf through it. After a few minutes, “Here… there’s a reference from…” he flipped a few pages back, “uh… 1910 to a Vera Cortland, and a large payment.”

“Could be connected,” mused Phryne, “We need to know more about Miss Cortland.”

She stood and moved to their belongings, “Did anything other than the documents go missing?”

Jack blushed slightly with mouth agape, “Uh… I’m not… I didn’t look.”

She turned back toward him, “Jack! That’s not like you!” she admonished.

“I saw her running away,” he offered in his defense, “I only saw her carrying the documents.”

She checked her jewelry. It was all still there. She checked her money. It was all still there. She searched through the bags. “What’s this?” she let out a high-pitched inquiry. He looked up from his continued study of the journal and the blush that had finally subsided from his slipshod investigation blazed across his face. She had pulled her peach silk pajama top out of his bag. The peach silk pajama top into which he had spilled the evidence of his masturbatory endeavors. He closed his eyes to collect his thoughts and cleared his throat.

“Um… Well… you see,” he struggled to explain himself. How could he explain what she did to him? What she had always done to him. “I… came… no, I mean to say… I _returned_ to the cabin… with Goff,” she arched an eyebrow at him, and he blushed even more deeply than he thought possible. “Oh… no… but I was hungry…” her eyes widened and filled with mirth and glee, her hand quickly covering her mouth to hide the smile that was forming as he fumbled. “Oh God, no… Goff went to get me a pasty, and I needed to stay here… so I… took matters in hand.”

“And my pajamas were the obvious choice for completing that… matter?” she asked as seriously as she could muster, but obviously no longer annoyed.

He looked up at her abashedly through long, appealing lashes, “It was a bit of an accident.”

She set down the evidence and walked over to where he sat on the bed, “An accident?” she queried as she straddled his lap, and began unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt, looking down at his lips with hungry eyes. “Accidents _do_ happen.”

She leaned down to kiss him, sipping lingeringly at his lips. He hummed out an approval.

She pulled away from his mouth, engaging a stringering duel with his nose.

“We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again, and by that destiny to perform an act whereof what’s past is prologue, what to come in yours and my discharge,” his deep voice rumbled against her as he quoted the bard.

She smiled wickedly against his lips, “But for your conscience?”

He returned her wicked smile. “Where lies that? If ’twere a kibe, 'twould put me to my slipper. But I feel not this deity in my bosom.” 

She dove in to plunder his mouth as he reached to unclasp her outfit _(going for his second attempt of the day)_ and she went back to the task of unbuttoning her already decidedly, uncharacteristically buttoned-down Inspector.

She pushed back suddenly. Jack sat up straighter to start to remove his shirt thinking her aim was to get undressed, but paused when the look on her face changed from seduction to epiphany.

“Jack!”

He closed his eyes, realizing what that tone of voice meant. _This tryst wasn’t happening now._ “Yes, darling?” he asked with a polite smirk and a sigh.

“What you just said… ‘What’s past is prologue!’” Phryne said. He looked at her confused.

“I only meant to invoke the Bard to help absolve my solitary transgressions,” he smiled, “You had left me… wanting.”

“Mmm… yes, darling,” she fondly placed a hand on his chest, but then started into her theory again, “I am beginning to think the key to this murder lies far in the past. We need to brush up on our history.”

“What about the airship intrigue… or the Romanians?” he asked.

“There could still be a connection, of course,” she said considering, “but what are the most common elements in murder?”

“Uh… Vengeance… greed… thwarted love,” he said.

Her eyes sparkled as pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for her, “I suspect that this case might be a triumvirate.”

“And it sounds as if talking to Miss Cortland and Air Commodore Cobb are of pressing importance,” he said with a resigned smile.

 

Once redressed, they set out looking for Dame Salome, hoping to find Miss Cortland with her. They figured the best bet was the smoking lounge. On the way, they passed through the main passenger lounge and spotted Lord Thomson. With tacit agreement, they decided that it was time to file a report.

“Lord Thomson, good morning,” Phryne began.

“Ah… Miss Fisher, Inspector. How goes the investigation?”  he inquired.

“Some things are becoming clearer,” she responded, “And some a bit murkier. We have a few more questions for you, if you have a moment.”

He glanced at his wristwatch, “Uh… yes… certainly. What do you need to know?”

Jack started, “You mentioned that Mr. Crocker had seen some anomalies in the flight test data. Has Flight Lieutenant Dyer raised his concerns with you yet?”

“No… what do you mean?” Thomson looked at him startled.

“The anomalies Mr. Crocker noted,” Thomson nodded as Jack spoke, “Dyer saw them, too. In fact, Dyer thinks what he saw could have only been deliberate manipulation of the records.”

Thomson stared at him in shock. “Is there any hard evidence for this?”

“Potentially,” Jack nodded, “Dyer felt he could make a compelling argument. Why would someone manipulate the records?”

Lord Thomson looked down at his hands. After a long moment where he seemed to draw lines between dots in his own mind he replied quietly, “A misguided fool might do it to protect the airship program that we’ve built.”

Phryne studied him, “Is that a confession, Lord Thomson?” 

Lord Thomson shook his head sadly. “No. No, it’s not a confession to anything other than my pushing my subordinates too hard and too fast…” he sighed deeply.

“Dyer seemed to think that only you, Air Commodore Cobb, and Group Captain Davis could have manipulated the records,” Jack continued. Thomson considered for a minute.

“It depends on the records,” he said finally, “If it were for this vessel only, that’s likely a true assessment.”

“But…” Phryne prompted.

“If it’s for the R100 and the R102, which we’re still testing…” he shrugged, “That could only be Cobb or myself.”

“Baron… Where _is_ Cobb?” Phryne asked.

“That’s an excellent question,” Thomson looked at her, “He didn’t report for duty this morning and I’ve been trying to track him down.”

“Did you know his late wife at all?” she asked, “Miss Cobb mentioned that her mother had died some years ago.”

Thomson nodded slightly, “Not very well. Mrs. Cobb was a beautiful woman… much like her daughter has turned out to be.”

“Do you know how she died?” she pushed.

He shook his head, “I can’t recall the specifics… an accident I think. Drowned, maybe? Cobb was out of the country at the time. He was devastated at her loss.”

Phryne and Jack exchanged a meaningful look. Out of the corner of her eye, Phryne spotted the Earl of Effingham moving past in the distance. She nodded to Jack but held her hand on his arm, willing him to stay with Thomson.

“It’s very important that we talk to Cobb,” Phryne directed to Thomson who nodded in agreement. “Jack, can you join the search? I need to go…” she directed her head toward Philip.

“Of course,” he agreed, “Lord Thomson, have you had his quarters searched?”

With the search for Cobb well in hand, Phryne stalked after Philip. Catching him easily as he neared the passenger cabin hallway.

“Philip, _darling_ ,” she said lightly, and then voice turning suddenly sharp, “we need to talk!” and steered him to his cabin.

She pushed him through the door and slammed it behind her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he demanded.

“What the hell do you think _you’re_ doing blackmailing Romanian princesses, Philip?!” she countered.

“Who told you about that?” he gawked at her.

“You just did,” she shot him a snide smirk, “I _am_ a detective, you idiot.”

His façade of confidence and righteous indignation crumbled.

“Oh… Phryne…” he cried, “I’m in an awful mess.”

He slumped to his bed and put his head into his hands. She watched him weep for a while, trying to determine if he was sincere ( _which he rarely was)_ or if these were crocodile tears. He _seemed_ genuine.

“Tell me what happened,” she sighed, sitting next to him and placing her hand gently on his back as she began rubbing it soothingly.

He looked at her, searching her face to see if she were really willing to listen. Apparently, he saw that she was, as he nodded and began to speak. “I’ve never been particularly discrete with my… proclivities… then father died and…”

“And the focus went to you?” He nodded.

“I started getting threats that my sinful behavior would be exposed and I’d be ruined unless I paid. So, I paid,” he looked down at his hands, “and then the money ran out… after the crash… I was never as clever as you.” He glanced at her. She smiled wanly in return.

“A lot of people have had trouble since the crash,” she said kindly.

“A lot of people don’t turn to what I have to make money,” he countered.

“No,” she agreed, “Paying a blackmailer by becoming a blackmailer is a bit extreme.” She continued to rub his back.

“In a way, it’s your fault,” he laughed slightly.

“My fault?” she asked pulling away, “In what possible way could it be my fault!?”

“Well… if you had accepted any one of my marriage proposals, none of this would be necessary!” he sneered at her.

She gaped at him unable to process what he was saying. “Philip? That’s ridiculous… I couldn’t have married you.” She stood up looking at him aghast.

“And why not?” he spat bitterly.

“For starters, I can’t be tied down like that!” she said for the umpteenth time to the zillionth man, “I need to be free to make my own choices and be my own person. I’m not interested in being a possession.”

“Marriage isn’t like that anymore.”

“Isn’t it?” she countered, “marriage laws haven’t changed all that much for women.”

“Marrying me would have been different. You could have still had your freedom,” he sneered spitefully, “Still been free to fuck whomever you wanted.”

She shook her head in disgust, “Is that what you think? Is that the only freedom you think that matters to me?” she recoiled from her friend, “Damnit, Philip… I make my choices with my money, with my time, with my heart, and yes… with my body… but choosing not to marry has nothing to do with _that_.”

He rolled his eyes at her, “That’s not what I mean, I mean marriages for our kind are business arrangements… to protect the aristocracy.”

“Ha! The aristocracy. At least make some case for love if you’re going to sell a bill of goods.”

“What about Jack?” he asked.

“What _about_ Jack?” she countered.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

“Wonderful. When’s the wedding?” he pressed.

She huffed a laugh, “We’re not marrying.”

“Does your Jack know you don’t plan to marry him?” he asked pointedly.

Of course, Jack knew her position on marriage. And he had said he didn’t want to change her, he never would. And then Egypt—he said he loved being partners. Whole individuals, but better together. They never discussed marriage one way or the other. But he knew. Didn’t he?

“He’s a traditional man, your inspector,” Philip pushed, “how long do you think he’s going to be happy with this arrangement?”

Phryne stared at him in annoyance.

Typical Philip trying to push the issue from himself.

“Long enough,” she volleyed, “You still don’t get to blame me for your terrible choices!” she said, voice rising.

He had been building back his veneer by going on the offensive.  Her realization that he was doing exactly that caused it to crumble again. He slumped in to silent thought.

“For you, marriage is a cage,” he finally said, “For me… and even for your Jack, it’s the only pathway to freedom. I would be free to bed whom I please, do as I want, as long as I had the façade of a good Christian family.”

“So, you’d cage me for your own freedom?”

He didn’t answer, just hung his head.

Phryne needed to move on from Philip Howard. She also needed answers. “Who is blackmailing you, Philip.”

He shook his head slightly, “I don’t know.”

“Is there any chance it could have been Davis?”

He looked at her startled, “I don’t… it can’t be…”

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him, trying to determine if he was being truthful, “Why not?”

“Didn’t he die last night?”

She nodded confirmation.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a note, “Well… I received another note this morning.”

She took it from him, “Do you have any of the others?” he nodded and stood, moving to the vanity drawer to remove an envelope.

Phryne studied the new note and the existing notes for a moment, “Philip, this is a different hand.”

“You’re kidding!” he grabbed it from her in horror.

“Philip?”

He turned as she spoke.

“You didn’t tell the Comanestis you were _also_ being blackmailed, did you?”

He nodded in shame. 

“Oh, Philip!”

 

Phryne left Philip to go in search of Jack.  She made her way to her promenade deck where people were crowding along the rails peering through the windows.

Dame Salome was one of the gawkers, standing atop a step-stool she’d commandeered from somewhere, “Miss Fisher! Come look! Provance!” 

Phryne made her way over to the rail next to the woman and looked over the side. Instead of the water she’d previously seen, she saw fields of lavender and the occasional farmhouse below.

 _“Bienvenue en France,”_ said Phryne softly.

Dame Salome’s frock matched the hue, if not the saturation, of the lavender fields below. Today’s fascinator was the color of pickled olives. She looked like a _petit apéritif_ from some pretentious cocktail lounge.

“Dame Salome,” Phryne turned to her companion, “Might I have a word?”

Without removing her attention from the view below the woman answered, “You may have several,” she offered, “provided you can have them here.”

Phryne smirked in response, “How long has Miss Cortland been in your service?”

This question did cause Dame Salome to turn to her. She considered Phryne in silence for a moment _(silence was an odd condition for Dame Salome)_ , “Perhaps... a little over two years… why do you ask about Miss Cortland, Miss Fisher?”

“What do you know about her? Her background? Her history? Her family?” Phryne probed.

Salome shrugged and turned back to the view below, “I don’t think she has any family anymore. Her mother died when she was very young… and I think she was conceived of an improvised bed… she came to me from a ragged school… she was too clever for machine work.”

“Do you know of any connection she may have had to Group Captain Davis?”  Phryne asked, the girl had taken his records and notes from the room she shared with Jack for a reason. Phryne needed to find their connection.

Dame Salome shook her head, “No. None that I know of.”

“How old is she?”

“A lady never reveals her age,” Salome said sagely, but then added, “But Annie isn’t really a lady, so I’ll tell you she’s just turned twenty.”

Phryne pondered and continued looking at the landscape below. The sound of laughter nearby caught her attention and she looked up to see Emma Cobb and Glenn Crocker laughing together at the end of deck.

“Hah… There’s an apple that doesn’t fall far from the tree,” observed Salome with a tilt of her head to Emma Cobb.

“How do you mean?”

“She’s moved on rather quickly from Davis, I see,” she observed archly.

“Miss Cobb and Mr. Crocker are childhood friends,” Phryne defended the young couple. Tongues would wag, but no sense starting them wagging prematurely.

“Ha. Yes. Perhaps… Perhaps… but she is like her mother… I can see it from here,” she arched an eyebrow, glancing over the top of her glasses at Phryne.

“Did you know Air Commodore Cobb’s wife… before she died?” Phryne asked directly.

“Oh yes… Marguerite was very beautiful… and like Emma in many ways,” Dame Salome reminisced, “but with more fire!”

“How did she die?” Phryne asked, “your godson said it was an accident.”

Dame Salome barked laughter, “HA! That was no accident. She drowned herself! Everyone knows that!”

Phryne looked at her in surprise. Salome continued her tale, “She was having an affair with a young officer in her husband’s command. He threatened to divorce her… she drowned herself… tragic tale.”

“Was it ever investigated as a possible homicide?” asked Phryne.

“I think so,” Salome replied, “They usually look at the husband, of course, but Cobb was out of the country.”

“What about the young officer with whom she was having the affair?” asked Phryne.

“I heard that she never gave up the name of her lover…” Salome answered.

Phryne considered this new information. Could Davis have been that young officer? He would have been in his early twenties at the time. And if what she suspected about Ann Cortland was true, it would seem Davis had a pattern of behavior regarding lovely young women.

“Miss Fisher,” her favorite sound in the favorite timbre was resonating from behind her.

“Jack.” She exhaled, turning to see her lover. She greeted him with a smile and received a slight smile and twinkle of eye in return. “Any luck finding our elusive Air Commodore?”

He sucked in his upper lip with a shake of his head, “No… not so far.”

“Damn. We really need to find him.”

Jack nodded in agreement. Then looked over the side at France below, lifting his eyebrows up, and then inhaling sharply and holding his breath.

“Are you alright, Jack?”

He nodded, “I thought the land would be easier than the open water… less… abyss,” he swallowed deeply closing his eyes before pulling his eyes away from the windows, “but I seem to be mistaken.”

Phryne put a hand on his arm to soothe him, “Let’s go find Cobb,” turning to Salome she asked, “Dame Salome, where _is_ Miss Cortland, presently?”

The white-capped woman turned to her, “I don’t know, Miss Fisher. She left me after breakfast when I went to smoke… speaking of which…” she stepped down off her step-stool and reached in her handbag for a large cigar.

Phryne and Jack watched her shuffle off toward the smoking lounge.

“So… we have a missing and presumed murdered captain, a missing air commodore, and now a missing lady’s maid,” Jack smirked at Phryne, “one would think there would be fewer missing persons in such a contained area.”

“Perhaps a visit to Miss Cortland’s cabin would be in order, as well,” Phryne considered. Jack nodded in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne are quoting The Tempest back and forth to each other from Act 2 Scene 1... A scene between Antonio and Sebastian, and not meant to be romantic at all, in fact they are talking about the plan to commit murder which is rooted in the past and that Antonio doesn't feel guilty about it. Jack is saying here that his need to take matters into his own hands is rooted in their earlier encounter that "past is prologue" to his solo act... and he's not there to apologize... though he does feel bad about the pjs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack identify the killer... the still missing killer... but they think they may know where to start looking... and it isn't inside the airship.

“Sir! Uh… Sir! Inspector Robinson, Sir!” the pair of detectives turned to see the form of Flight Cadet Goff hurrying toward them, “Sir!”

“Yes, Mr. Goff,” Jack responded, “have you found Cobb for me?”

The young man shook his head, “No sir, nobody knows where he is… Lord Thomson has called all hands.”

“Mr. Goff,” Phryne cut in, “Could you please take us to Miss Ann Cortland’s cabin?”

“Who’s that then, Ma’am?” the fresh-faced young man asked.

“Dame Salome’s lady’s maid... don’t you have a passenger manifest?” Phryne asked.

“Oh um… yes. Of course, Miss… I.. uh… She’ll be below decks… as a lady’s maid… I’ll… I’ll just go get that manifest then, shall I?” Goff asked expectantly.

“Very good, Mr. Goff,” Jack praised the lad. Goff beamed at him and scampered off.

Phryne rolled her eyes, turning to Jack. “We still can’t completely rule out the Romanians,” she said, “But I don’t think they’re involved. Mostly I think they’re just caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Jack hummed agreement.

“In any case, I’ve arranged for tea with them in,“ she picked up his wrist to check his watch, “a little over an hour. “

Jack’s lips twitched in irritation.

“You needn’t come, Jack—though it would be nice to have backup.”

He moved his lips to her ear. “I do enjoy covering your backside, Miss Fisher,” he said in a low rumble as he slid his hand surreptitiously around her bottom to make his point. She inhaled sharply, widening her eyes as his tongue darted out to trace the shell of her to punctuate his point.

Her eyes darted around. They were definitely not alone here. _Damn._ She could feel the pinch of desire but there was nothing she could currently do about it. He pulled away from her ear with a smirk, eyes laughing.

“Not fair, Jack,” she said very softly.

“Really?” he said with a laugh.

“Miss Fisher! Inspector!” Jack smiled and raised his brows at her with the sound of Flight Cadet Goff’s voice.

Without breaking eye contact with Phryne, Jack answered, “Yes, Mr. Goff?”

“I…I have it… the passenger manifest…” the young man came trotting back. Jack winked at Phryne.

“Shall we, Miss Fisher?” he crooked his elbow toward her. She looped her arm in his and they followed the cadet to the lowest passenger level of the airship.

“Here it is…” he announced when they reached the cabin door.

Jack knocked on the door. “Miss Cortland?”  They didn’t hear anything. Again. “Miss Cortland?” Still nothing. Again. “Hello? Miss Cortland?” He tried the door but it was looked. He gestured to Flight Cadet Goff who fumbled with the keys but finally succeeded.

It was not nearly as opulent a space as the detective’s cabin, but it was clean and comfortable. And it was practically empty. Miss Cortland didn’t have much.

“Jack! Look!” They hadn’t found anything in the drawers or built in cupboards, but Phryne had just found the files inside the pillowcase on the bed.

“Well found, Miss Fisher,” Jack took the files from her and started looking through them as she moved on to searching Miss Cortland’s personal belongings, “What are you doing, Miss Fisher?”

“Miss Cortland is a thief,” Phryne responded, “this is a reasonable search.”

Jack acquiesced the point with a glance to heavens and a tilt of his head before beginning the search of the documents. His cadet waited patiently at the door, poised hoping he could be helpful in some small way.

“This is interesting,” Jack spoke while reading, “It seems to be an account of the Earl of Effingham’s comings and goings.”

“Let me see that,” he handed Phryne the handwritten journal, “It looks like the same hand as the older blackmail demands Philip received. I’ll see if I can find anything to suggest the Miss Cortland picked up the habit.” And handed the book back to Jack.

She returned in earnest to the task of rooting through the available parts of Miss Ann Cortland’s life. She failed to find a handwriting sample, but it didn’t take her too long to find something disturbing.

“Oh, no! Jack!” she turned toward him, “we may have a _slight_ problem.”

He looked up at her in confusion. While Phryne had gone a bit pale, her face maintained a playful smirk, still— he could tell this was serious business. “What is it?”

“Miss Cortland has made a terrible mistake,” She held out her hand— opening her closed fist to reveal a handful of .32 caliber bullets, “potentially for all of us.”

They hurried off to find Lord Thomson to let him know that not only was Miss Cortland missing, but she was also a thief and presumed armed and dangerous. The airship was designed to stand up to quite a lot, but weapons fired from inside could potentially be problematic. He assured them that he would have all available men looking for both Ann Cortland and Douglas Cobb.

Thomson ordered a cabin by cabin search, but that would take hours. Jack glanced at his watch, noting that it was nearly time to meet the Comanestis.

 “We’ve searched all over the ship,” Thomson was clearly frustrated, “there aren’t that many places left to hide.”

“Kit?” Lord Thomson turned at the sound of his pet name spoken by his lover Princess Marthe. Her approach had gone unnoticed by the air minister and the detectives as they were discussing the problem of missing suspects.

“Not now,” he said tersely.

“I only wanted to…”

“I said not now!” he barked, “return to your cabin, Mar… Lucile.”

A look of confusion passed over the princess’s face, followed quickly by anger. She turned on her heel, storming away.

Thomson turned back to the detectives with a look of deep sadness in his eyes, but his jaw was firmly set. “As I was saying, we’ve searched everywhere on the ship,” his voice had a gravelly catch of emotion.

Phryne and Jack glanced at each other, making a tacit decision to not press Thomson on his lover’s spat. At least not presently.

“You said you’ve searched everywhere on the ship?” Phryne asked. Thomson nodded. “How about off the ship?”

Thomson looked at her confused, “I don’t follow your meaning.”

“Has anyone checked the Bulldog?” she asked.

As it turned out, other than cursory glances they hadn’t. They’d checked the platform, of course. They’d looked down the trapeze to verify the aeroplane was still there. But no one had bothered to climb down to search it. The reporting lieutenant attempted to defend the action stating that the aeroplane was unusable after the sudden disembarkation of Captain Davis. Lord Thomson dismissed him angrily.

Phryne and Jack had already started making their way to the Bulldog platform before the matter had resolved.

Phryne was in the lead as they made their way down the narrow metal walkway.

“Jack?” she said over her shoulder.

“What?” he was poised for action. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to get married,” she stated firmly.

Jack stopped in his tracks. “What?” he blinked at her in utter confusion.

She let out an exasperated sigh and turned around throwing her hands up, “I do love you, Jack—but I just don’t want to get married. I know it would be easier for you and that being with me and not being married will be horrible for your career and could ruin your reputation, but I refuse to be boxed in by that arcane and… frankly, misogynistic institution!”

He continued to gape at her, but when it looked like she might be pausing in her rant he ventured forth with a narrowing of his eyes, “Why exactly are we talking about this now?”

Phryne’s voice rose in pitch slightly, “I just wanted you to be clear where I stood on the matter.” She faced him with her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive posture.

Jack nodded slowly as his brows pinched together in thought. He brought his hand to his face, to complete the pinch with his fingers.

After a moment, he spoke in a slightly annoyed tone, “Did I ask?” waving his hand out to her.

Now it was Phryne’s turn to be confused, “What?”

He tilted his head at her playfully, “It’s been an exhausting few days,” he said, “I don’t recall asking you to marry me… but I apologize if I did…” and then, with what she thought was a slightly sad smile, he followed with, “won’t happen again.”

“Jaa-cck” she moved toward him placing a hand on his chest, “No… I didn’t mean it like that… No. You didn’t propose…” he looked at her expectantly, “Philip said I was awful for not wanting to marry,” she pouted slightly and Jack rolled his eyes, “and I guess it stung more than I thought.” She said this last as she studied the design on his tie.

Jack watched her eyes tracing the design for moment before he broke her trance, “Phryne,” she looked up at his eyes, “Can we at least agree that _Lord Effingham_ , “ Jack enunciated this last with a hint of a sneer, “is not in this relationship?” She nodded, but said nothing. “We do still need to figure some things out… but, “ he took a deep breath, “right now we really need to focus on catching a killer. Alright?”

“Yes,” She nodded, “Yes, of course.” She turned to continue down the walkway. As she turned, he caught her hand. She looked back at him in confusion.  The smirk on his face and the light shake of his head were meant to dismiss her worries.

“Just one more thing, Miss Fisher.” He stepped to her, reaching for the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. It reminded Phryne of his maneuver on the airfield. Her arms stroked his powerful thighs as she tried pulling him closer to her. She couldn’t get any closer with these clothes on.

Phryne was still fully surrendered to the kiss as he pulled away. Jack looked down at her face, eyes still closed and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Alright, Miss Fisher,” his deep baritone rumbled at her, “Remember. Focus.”

Jack released her from his embrace and moved past her on the walkway continuing toward the Bulldog platform. Phryne bit her bottom lip, inhaling deeply to collect herself. _That man._ She shook her head with a wicked smile before following him.

When they reached the platform, Jack’s new swagger suddenly faltered. He was still deeply uncomfortable with the metal grate over open air.

“I’ll climb down and have a look,” Phryne offered. 

“No, wait,” Jack stopped her. She shot him back an admonishing look. “Um… Shouldn’t we have a plan… or something?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she said as she started climbing down the ladder to the Bristol Bulldog below.

“Miss Fisher!” she kept climbing… “Phryne!” she stopped.

“What is it, Jack?” she looked at him annoyed.

“Please,” his voice cracked, “be careful.”

He didn’t tell her to stop. He couldn’t. He knew careful was a relative term, but his heart was thundering in his ears.

She looked up the ladder at her terrified lover. Terrified more for her than for himself at this moment. _Oh, Jack. Darling Jack._ She climbed back up. She reached the top and pulled him to her for a deep meaningful kiss, pouring as much of her love for him into it as she could manage. When she pulled away, she cupped his cheek softly, “I can’t promise ‘careful’ but I won’t be foolish,” she held his gaze lovingly, “can you cope with that?”

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really, no.”

“I think I’m foolish enough for both of us,” he followed, tilting his head at her as he met her eyes again, “certainly when it comes to you.”

She kissed him again, “I love you, Jack Robinson,” and then she released him from her embrace and started climbing down the ladder, “And don’t you forget it!”

“I love you, Phryne Fisher,” he called down the ladder. She winked up at him.

 

The wind whipped around her as she descended the ladder to the badly damaged Bulldog dangling from the trapeze below the airship. It was mid-day, and thusly should’ve been bright outside, but clouds had been gathering. In the distance to her left, ominous thunderheads had formed blocking most of the early afternoon sun. Though it was late June, the darkness of the sky and the altitude left her surprisingly cold. She hadn’t planned for this… she rarely planned for anything… so she had only her thin Egyptian-motif pantsuit as protection against the increasingly hostile elements. At least a mile below she thought she could make out the Rhone slithering across the countryside, reflecting what little light still came through the clouds.

Phryne could tell as she got lower… closer to the Bulldog that, without serious repairs, the best that could be hoped for with that aeroplane would be a rough glide, but that would be fool’s hope indeed.

She finally made it to Bulldog, tethering herself to the ladder with the attached strapping. She wouldn’t be able to see into the cockpit until she left the safety of the ladder and looked over the top wing. Because she’d promised Jack… and because she didn’t know what to expect, once she was secured she tentatively peered over the side of the wing.

Phryne wasn’t entirely prepared for what she found. Air Commodore Douglas Cobb was sitting in the cockpit of the one-seater. He was gagged. His hands had been shackled to the “O” of the steering column. He didn’t see her at first, and from his position she couldn’t tell if he was still amongst the living. His head lolled back and forth. He still had color in his cheeks, so she guessed he was probably still alive or not long dead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of lightning in the distance.

“MR. COBB!” she shouted over the sound of the engines and the whip of the wind around them. His head snapped back in alarm. Wild-eyed, he rolled his head toward her and started trying to scream through the gag.

There was a dull rumble of thunder.

She leaned down and ungagged him.

“Miss Cortland! She’s crazy! She’s going after Emma!” He shouted in a rush as soon as the gag was released.

“Why would she do that, Mr. Cobb?” Phryne yelled over the sounds of nature and airship alike.

Air Commodore Douglas Cobb, Commander of the British special airship fleet closed his tear-filled eyes and stilled.

“Because… I killed her father,” he choked out with a hitch in his voice, “Captain Davis.”

A loud clap of sound rang out above her. And then another. Phryne looked up in alarm.

That wasn’t thunder!

She stared up at the platform in horror.

“JACK!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killer has been captured, but there is still a grave danger. This is the final chapter for The Most Common Element. The series The Least of Your Worries will continue.

“Oh God, Jack!” she cried out. Phryne placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself to rise over him.

He gazed up at her in supplicant awe. She was always beautiful. She was always benevolent. She was always brilliant. In this moment, she was his goddess.  If this were to be his time to die, he would die in ecstasy. It wasn’t.

Her naked form glistened with sweat. She smiled down at him as his thumb found her clitoris again and began to work slow circles. She held his cockhead just inside her passage as she held herself over him. They were both extremely close.

“Should we risk it?” he asked, “So far… we’ve been… interrupted… every other… time… we’ve gotten… this close… on this infernal… machine.” He panted.

Phryne closed her eyes at the feel of the tension building, her breath was coming in short bursts. She nodded with a squeeze of her pelvic floor, “I think… we have to.” He whimpered.

She dropped herself down hard onto his cock and they both moaned in delight. She pushed herself up. His hips followed. Jack continued working on her clitoris as she bounced more frantically towards release.

“Jack! Jack… I’m coming…” all of his attentions increased their pace. His thumb shook. His hips bucked wildly. He felt the first wave of her orgasm rippling along his shaft. Waves of pleasure tugged at his cock and he shouted as his own release came.

She collapsed on his chest, his cock still in sheathed in her convulsing warmth as her cascading waves began to subside.

Phryne propped her chin on his chest, looking at him, “You did a very brave thing, Jack.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, “Which? Following you halfway around the world, or allowing a madwoman with a gun to get the drop on me?”

“Both, probably.”

“Not foolish?” he asked.

“It’s only foolish if you do it without fear. Bravery is doing something despite the fear.” She kissed his sternum.

He acknowledged the point with a lift of his eyebrows and close-lipped smile. “What are they going to do with her?”

“Thomson said he’s turning her over to the British Consulate in Paris,” she said, “She has to get off the airship in Paris with the rest of us civilians. She didn’t actually kill or hurt anyone,” he pouted at her and pointed at the small cut on his head. “Well… she didn’t seriously hurt anyone. And the damage from the bullets to the inside of the ship appear to be minor.”

He nodded at her. She leaned forward to kiss him, reveling in the press of her breasts against the light hair on his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her holding her close. They were still connected. Her sonorous voice sent secondary vibrations through to his still embedded semi-erect cock. The more she spoke, the more quietly aroused he became.

“What about Cobb?” he asked, sliding his hands down her body to grip her bottom, kneading her flesh.

She squeezed her pelvic floor at his cock in response, causing him to inhale sharply and close his eyes. She felt him hardening rapidly inside her.

“He’s being court martialed” she said with a swivel of her hips, “Which is the pretense…” she rose slightly, “behind removing all non-military…” she plunged against his hips again, “from the ship.”

They said nothing else for a while.

The platform had been harrowing. After hearing the gunshots, Phryne left Cobb shackled to the Bulldog and flew up the ladder. She saw Jack slumped against the railing with blood trickling down his face. He had Ann Cortland’s Walther Model 4 in his hand. Miss Cortland was cowering a few feet away. At first, Phryne feared Jack had been shot, but a quick examination revealed he had merely hit his head on the railing. He had a nasty headache, but that was clearing up nicely. Something about drawing the blood away from his big head—Jack wasn’t convinced doctor Phryne was an expert—but he certainly wasn’t going to argue the point. 

Thomson and his men showed up right after Phryne. They arrested Miss Cortland and Air Commodore Cobb. Jack was taken to the medic while Phryne had words with Thomson.

Phryne tried to convince Thomson that they should all go on to England in the R-101, but he was firm. All non-military personnel would be disembarking at the Orly airfield just south of Paris. He was sorry for the inconvenience, but this was now a serious military matter. Passengers could apply for partial refunds through the Air Minister’s office.

“I guess we should get ready to disembark,” Jack said after they were feeling truly sated. He reached over to the table, grabbing his watch, “we’re supposed to moor in… twenty minutes.”

She sighed heavily, kissing his chest, “If we must, we must.”

“Did Cobb say why he did it?” Jack asked as Phryne dismounted.

She nodded, “It was as we’d suspected. Captain Davis had been blackmailing him about the shortcuts they’d taken in testing the airship… which I think is another reason Thomson is getting us off the ship,” she pulled on her robe, “But the final straw was that Davis taunted Cobb by letting slip that he hoped the daughter—Emma—would be as sweet and eager as her mother.”

“Not that I condone any murder,” Jack grimaced, “but I can see where Cobb would snap.”

“Yes,” Phryne agreed, “betrothing your only child to the man who is not only blackmailing you but who also had an affair with your wife… which, in turn, led to her death… People have killed for far less.”

“We missed tea with the Romanians.” Jack noted.

“We did. But I found out what why they’re so agitated,” Phryne followed, “besides the blackmail.”

“Do tell.”

“Valentina is with child,” she reported, “Dimitrie had only just found out about the blackmail—and then with the child on the way on top of it. It overly complicates his political problems.”

“Surely that solves a few? Royals love heirs, don’t they?” he asked.

“It’s all rather complicated—but not in this case because of Dimitrie’s ties to the fascists… additionally, heirs make good targets…” she trailed off. He shrugged in agreement. She grabbed her toilette bag, “I’m going to have a quick wash before we disembark—join me?” He shot her a sly glance before jumping out of bed, grabbing his own robe.

 

The mood was somber as the passengers waited for the airship to make contact with the mooring mast. A far cry from the celebration of the launch, it was quiet and moody in the lounge. A handful of people tried to watch from the promenade deck, but as it was late in the evening, there was little to see except the electric lights of the mooring platform.

Phryne and Jack entered the passenger lounge which was serving as the staging area for disembarkation. The Romanians had been reunited, mother and daughter were very close together while the surly prince sulked opposite them.

Philip was pointedly avoiding Phryne’s gaze as she entered the room. To the casual observer, he continued his conversation with his valet Mr. Franklin and just failed to notice her, but she recognized it was a deliberate artifice born of embarrassment.

A red-eyed, puffy-faced Emma Cobb sat staring ahead blankly. She was flanked by Glenn Crocker and Dame Salome. Glenn had a look of deep concern on his face as he watched Emma carefully. Dame Salome was speaking, but from their position, they couldn’t hear what she was directing at the young woman.

There was a maelstrom of murmurs. All heads turned to see a shackled Air Commodore Cobb being led through the crew door. Lord Thomson followed. They approached Emma.

The detectives moved closer so they could witness the exchange.

Emma Cobb stared up at her father with tears in her eyes, saying nothing for a time. Finally, she stood, smoothing her dress. She approached him with a look of pure agony on her face.

“Is it true?” she finally said with a ragged voice.

“Emma,” he tried to reach out to her but the shackles stopped his hands.

“Is… It… True?” she said with nostrils flaring, face beet-red. He nodded. “Goodbye, Father.”

She turned away and walked toward the exit. Glenn Crocker grabbed his satchel, quickly following her. Dame Salome stood facing Douglas Cobb. “I’ll make sure she has somewhere to go, Mr. Cobb.”

The ruined man closed his eyes and nodded, “Thank you.”

“Not for your sake,” Salome added, “For hers. You sold your daughter’s hand to your blackmailer. That’s why she’s angry. Naturally, murder is unforgivable… but your greater betrayal was to your child.”

Tears fell from Cobb’s eyes as he was led away.

Phryne noted that Thomson looked longingly at Marthe before he turned and followed Cobb to the makeshift brig below-decks.

 

It was late when the civilian passengers were transported via a fleet of Pierce Arrows to the Raphael near Avenue des Champs-Élysées.  A gentle rain lulled an exhausted pair of detectives into a doze as the car crept through the spider-web of Parisian streets. The R-101, free of her civilian payload—with an air minister eager to get his murderous Air Commodore back to England as quickly as possible, departed Orly before the last of the passenger limousines left the airfield.

They went straight to bed as soon as they got to their room. Jack was delighted to be on land again. Phryne was delighted with the luxurious bed. As they drifted off to sleep, the sounds of sirens and the city echoed in the distance.

When they ordered breakfast in bed the next morning, it came with the news.

Phryne had thrown on her robe to let in the breakfast cart.

“Jack!” tears sprang to her eyes as trembling hands held the newspaper. The front page of _La Tribune Republicaine_ read “La catastrophe du ‘R-101’”.

“What is it?” he narrowed his eyes at her, as he rolled from the bed to her side. His French was weak, but the pictures of the burned-out remains of the vessel in which he had spent the past two days traveling said enough. Bile rose in his throat as saw the number “46” and the word _“mort”_.

 

* * *

 

 

Mayfair, London, England, August 1930

“Miss Fisher? Princess Marthe Bibesco to see you,” her too-formal butler announced. It had been five weeks since France; since the R-101 had crashed into the hillside at Allonne. Of the fifty-four officers and crew aboard when it crashed, only eight survived initially. Six now remained. Lord Thomson was not amongst the survivors.

“Thank you, Simmons. Show her in.”

Marthe was a husk of the woman Phryne had last seen being driven away from the Orly airfield. Though still a great beauty, her features were sunken, skin sallow, all luster was gone.

“How are you, Marthe?” Phryne asked gently.

Marthe took the seat that was offered. She was having trouble meeting Phryne’s eyes. “Angry. I have been angry. Angry at Kit. Angry at the fates.” Phryne nodded but stayed silent. “We fought before… the incident. He… he told me he never wanted to see me again.”

“Oh, Marthe.”

Marthe closed her eyes to fight back tears. “Last week… In _our_ copy of Madame Bovary, I found this…” she handed Phryne a worn, tear-stained note.

After reading it Phryne was stunned, “This suggests that he knew!” Marthe nodded. “You have to turn this over to the air ministry.”

“I know. That’s why I’m bringing it to you. Please help me.” Marthe’s voice was rough.

“Of course,” Phryne reached her hand out to her, “Now you know he was only trying to protect you.”

Marthe shook her head angrily, “I was never even consulted… I loved Kit. He cut me out of the decision. Now… I don’t even… I don’t even have the _opportunity_ to have the conversation.”

“You can’t forgive him?” Phryne asked.

Tears fell down Marthe’s face, “In time… perhaps. The most common element in tragedies is the failure to communicate. Why should our love story be any different?”

She stood then. “Please… deliver this to the ministry.” She walked to the exit, pausing and turning to Phryne, “He did this to protect my name, not my life. The irony is Carol is back on the throne and we are out of the spotlight. His scandals paled to ours.”

“Thomson still saved your life.”

“And now I no longer have him in it,” Marthe said sadly, “how does that help me?”

 

Jack returned to the townhouse as Marthe was leaving. He set down the parcel he was carrying.

“Where have you been all morning?” Phyrne asked, “you were gone when I woke up.”

“Did you miss me?” Jack asked cheekily.

“Yes, I did.” She said moving to loop her arms around his waist.

He smiled at her softly, “Mr. Goff has been transferred to Bethnal Green here in London. I thought I’d take him some Zane Grey novels for his convalescence.”

Phryne smiled, “I’m glad your cadet is recovering.” She smiled a sad smile. Happy for Flight Cadet Goff. Devastated for the loss of so many others. Jack pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

“Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perished. Had I been any god of power, I would have sunk the sea within the earth or ere it should the good ship so have swallowed and the fraughting souls within her.” He spoke against her skin.

“Oh, woe the day,” she sighed. After a squeeze, she released her grip, “What’s in the box?”

“Parcel from Mrs. Collins.” he smiled at her.

“How wonderful!” she moved to open the box, “A letter… a photo of the baby… Anzac biscuits!”

“Let me have one of those,” he eagerly took a bite. His enthusiasm waned quickly, “yuck… stale…”

“Dot probably didn’t think that through,” she smiled sympathetically as he spit out the stale biscuit.

Phryne picked up the photo, turning it over to read the back, “Hugh Theobald Collins, Jr. ‘Teddy’ June 1930,” she turned it back to look at the picture, “why is his head so square?”

He took the photo from her with a roll of his eyes, “It’s not square… it’s… masculine.” He defended the boy, “he looks like his father.”

“He looks like a potato,” she stated firmly.

He shot her an annoyed look.  After a few minutes reading, he asked “Did I see Princess Marthe leaving?”

“Yes. Apparently, Lord Thomson jilted her to save her reputation, or life… or both,” she shared.

“While I understand the impulse,” Jack said after a moment, “that has to be painful for her now.”

Phryne turned to him, studying this man who was a never-ending source of mystery, “It is.”

He nodded.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“You can’t ask _again_ … because you never asked the first time,” Phryne said, “But at some point, in the future—the distant future—I think we should discuss marriage again.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sad conversation that begins "Against my very soul..." is a quote from Miranda from Shakespeare's The Tempest. In that speech, Miranda fears that her father Prospero has sunk a ship with his magically created storm. In that, there is no life lost... unlike here, sadly. 
> 
> The real life R-101 did crash into a hilltop in Allonne France, but from the other direction, coming from England and in October of 1930, not June (I have serial reasons for it to be in June). It never made it to India and back. Marthe was never on board. Lord Christopher Birdwell Thomson did die in the crash. It's thought that his hubris and overloading the airship with ornate trinkets... plus the cutting corners on testing... were major contributing factors to the crash.  
> King Carol of Romania was temporarily deposed from his throne in favor of his young child, but was reinstated to the throne in 1930. Prince George was not in line to take over.  
> I've taken a few liberties with history but all should be set right now. Hopefully the story was, on balance, more enjoyable than frustrating.


End file.
